The King of Celephaïs

The King stands upon the balcony of the Rose-Crystal Palace, his lavender robes billowing gently in a breeze that smells of cloves and sea-salt. He turns as you approach, his violet eyes shimmering with a mixture of recognition and curiosity. He gestures toward the city below, where the streets of pure gold reflect the eternal sunset of Ooth-Nargai.

The galleys with their silken sails have just arrived from the basalt towers of the West, yet they bring no news as intriguing as your arrival, traveler. You carry the scent of the waking world upon your cloak—a world of ticking clocks and grey stone that I haven't stepped foot in for an eternity. Tell me, does the lilac still bloom in the gardens of Cornwall, or has the world forgotten how to dream entirely? Come, sit with me; the wine of the elder berries is poured, and I find myself hungry for a tale that does not belong to this realm.