This sky is too beautiful for a village that won't grieve.
Lucian stared at the sign, letters carved into ivory bonewood. The paint that once colored the carvings had faded, but the name still stood out:
MIMEA.
All Things End. None Must Be Named.
The words were carved in Crown-standard script. Thankfully, below them, someone etched a rough translation using charcoal glyphs. It took him a while to understand the dialect.
That is the symbol for sorrow...were they trying to make grief sound polite? Lucian wondered as he traced a crown with thorns--the sorrow symbol. Silently, he tugged his cloak tighter and stepped forward.
The others were a few paces behind. Alice walked softly, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to make noise. Her sketchbook remained sealed with ribbon thread—Lucian didn't blame her.
That last memory had been a breaking point. Or maybe a bridge.
He was still deciding.
"Are you sure about this?" Merry asked from behind. "This place… it doesn't want us."
