(no subject)

[kassandraloxias.livejournal.com]

Kassandra finds a seat at a well-lit table, unrolls a large parchment and anchors its corners with worn, sandy bricks -- the kind of thing that might have come from a ruin. From the depths and folds of her chiton come a piece of charcoal for sketching, a lodestone already floating in a clay dish, and a single black feather which she strokes persistently, absentmindedly. Across the parchment lines and smudges begin to grow -- pictures of nothing on a map showing nowhere.