Artran
Moc hezký styl:
This, this is the City, you remind yourself, where the spice traders ran their ships, and sometimes lost them in the shallows, spilling bright and costly cargos and staining the river as orange as sunset.
[...]
It still feels crushingly alien, and yet a little dull. Shops. There are shops at home. Only the bright and perfect light meets your hopes. The sun is centered in heaven, marking the axis of all creation, as though to say, ‘here, in this spot, things are real.’
[...]
Her gaze flicks over you, taking in— something; who knows what details she is reading in your beaten clothes and the lines of your face. In a rush you remember what you felt when you first saw her: not desire, not longing, not trust, but something unspeakable, like what you felt the morning you came into your mother’s room and there was no breathing.
This, this is the City, you remind yourself, where the spice traders ran their ships, and sometimes lost them in the shallows, spilling bright and costly cargos and staining the river as orange as sunset.
[...]
It still feels crushingly alien, and yet a little dull. Shops. There are shops at home. Only the bright and perfect light meets your hopes. The sun is centered in heaven, marking the axis of all creation, as though to say, ‘here, in this spot, things are real.’
[...]
Her gaze flicks over you, taking in— something; who knows what details she is reading in your beaten clothes and the lines of your face. In a rush you remember what you felt when you first saw her: not desire, not longing, not trust, but something unspeakable, like what you felt the morning you came into your mother’s room and there was no breathing.
