Eyes closed, Arialla sang: "Oh great Apollo, lord of the silver bow, god of -- "
She broke off: something was wrong. The acoustics around her had suddenly changed, no longer the perfectly harmonious echo of the temple chamber. She opened her eyes and found herself looking not at the great golden statue of Apollo, but at a huge, ugly black spike thrusting into the sky, hideous and unnatural. She stood not on beautifully-inlaid polished marble but in sooty dust and ash, a wasteland already stamping its mark on her pale golden robes and ceremonial sandals.
She shrieked, any semblance of thought overtaken by pure horror and confusion.
She broke off: something was wrong. The acoustics around her had suddenly changed, no longer the perfectly harmonious echo of the temple chamber. She opened her eyes and found herself looking not at the great golden statue of Apollo, but at a huge, ugly black spike thrusting into the sky, hideous and unnatural. She stood not on beautifully-inlaid polished marble but in sooty dust and ash, a wasteland already stamping its mark on her pale golden robes and ceremonial sandals.
She shrieked, any semblance of thought overtaken by pure horror and confusion.
