Interlude VI

And so our heroes - if that is what they are - descend into the crumbling capital of a fallen city. A set of spiral stone stairs lead into the maze of rooms and hallways and collapsed roofs that make up the citadel.

I wonder, now, if any of them were weaving the same picture you are. Likely not. It's always hard to see the threads when you are the threads, entangling one another in webs of omittance and distrust. It takes an impartial eye to see the picture being created.

And are you impartial? Or do you pick out some colors more readily than others, peering through the stained glass of your own personality? Maybe not.

But I wouldn't count on it.