Artavius Sage Ander
An eloquent song tapered and thin, a gentle tug at reality, existence within a sphere of perfect glass. Tendrils of wafting blue smoke, almost like a cloud, opening a rift in time through which only memories can travel aptly. There was a note, sustained and painful, a tug, a heart-strung whimper upon the faintest conciousness. It was a dull sound like rain against grass. A soft and silver sound. Able to transport even the most tempest-wracked minds. Never-ending, ever-vacant, soothing, perpetual. Fingers against the curve of age and grace and beauty... and for what? All of naught, a framework of things known, perceived, documented. Until all Artavius Sage Ander
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