He sat on the chair.
The chilly air hit him all at once.
The path was lined with tall ice sculptures.
There were small white lights in the conifers overhead, which created delicate shadows across the walkway as the breeze went through them.
Quiet generators caused mist to form on top of the walls, and drop down to create pools over the colored lights.
The chill enveloped him in one swift gust.
Ice sculptures towered all around him.
Small white lights filled the branches of overlying conifers, casting delicate shadows across the walkway as they shifted in the breeze.
Mist rolled out of quiet generators cascaded down the walls, swirling over colored lights and pooling across the ground.
There were two reinforced windows along one wall, and through them was a view of the small, cold stars.
Two reinforced windows dominated one wall, and through them the small, cold stars glittered in the vastness.
He could hear the sound of metal tearing on the other side of the docking bay.
The screech of tearing metal echoed across the docking bay.
He felt the catwalk give way beneath him.
The catwalk lurched beneath his feet.
"Writing, though, belongs first to the writer, and then to the reader, to the world.The subject is a catalyst, a character, but our responsibility is, has to be, to the work."
Lightsong wrote:@Radrook: What do you mean?
Lightsong wrote:@Radrook: It's supposed to be in the first post, but if you can't see it, I'll submit this issue to other mods. Don't worry.
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