Inside the dilapidated Pilgrim's Courtyard, columns lay fallen, the red carpets dimmed, blood trickled over the marble floor, solidifying into dark red patches. Even as a century had passed, Bologue and the others could still glimpse the past prosperity through the gloom.
Yet the fragrance of wine was no more, what remained was only the stale air mingling with the scent of decay, smelling like some foul fermented product, crawling with filthy maggots.
The complex and subtle sounds came from all directions, sounding like insects on a massive crawl, or like the gentle patter of rain hitting the ground... The reality was far from beautiful; the source of the sound was those scarlet tentacles, which spread in from the outskirts of the Royal City, nearly devouring the palace completely, converting inorganic matter, and eroding broken bodies.
