Welcome to The Crimson Ring. A door with a frame painted a crimson hue; no signpost, address or nameplate is visible. A plaque of nevercold brass sliver is inset into the archway, and the inscribed words. In Girum Imus Nocte Et Consumimur Igni. Glow with the borrowed flame of gaslamps on either side.

On October 15, 2010 by Gabriel Morgan. In the Marches, more than once, I found myself standing over a grave with flowers in my hands, weeping. For those I have lost, there has never once been a grave. The first, the fire took everything. The second, I know nothing about. The third, the sea took everything. The graves were empty in the Marches. And still I wept, wilting flowers in my hands. On October 2, 2010 by Gabriel Morgan. I stared at the bat, drumming my.

On the border between light brown and hazel, but closer to brown. Thick and dark brown, falling into coarse curls that end in the middle of her back. A round face, with large eyes, a pointed chin, a snub nose, and full lips. Her skin is not as pale as most. Her skin is a warm camel color with yellow undertones. Honoria is somewhere between the skinny gangliness of youth and the slender figure of becoming a woman.