Weight on your hands on the cold hard ground as you push up, as you take more in. A city like a castle stands before you, peaks and minarets of black and white and black like shafts of crystal, seemingly too narrow and strangely-edged to be anyone's home, but far too immense to be, you don't know, an art installation. The peaks are bound with metal, trained into place as if this place had been grown there, a bonsai of glass and stone. The air here is knife-cold and metallic in scent, and it is beautiful and terribly sharp and very alien.
This is not your home. You wonder whose it was, who lived in this elsewhere before they grew up and got away and became trapped in the world people call real. You wonder if they loved it. You wonder who would love it - what a silent, sharp, and shining world like this shapes someone into.
You notice that the red is irregular on the black and white spires, matte on its shine, and you shudder.
"The City" necklace by upstart_crow, made of glass, Czech/Swarovski crystal, wood, pearl, unknown metal, and stories.
This will not be the only foreign Elsewhere Ash finds herself in today.
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