There was a noise inside the wall.
Godwin looked up from his papers, across his wide office, and towards the direction of the sound. He heard it again. A scratching, quiet but distinct. He narrowed his eyes. A mouse, likely. They always came into the palace this time of year, hiding from the cold and the damp. There wasn’t snow, they never got too much here, but a heavy wet chill hung over the city. The sky had been grey for at least a fortnight but the storms hadn’t been severe. Even if they had been he doubted it would change much. It seemed nothing could stop the constant ebb and flow of ships into the docks.
Every action had it’s reaction. Each negative it’s positive: eternally balancing, infinitely complimenting. It just happened that Gloriaterra’s fall was Catheda’s rise. Each bit of rubble that crumbled from that land rolled into the reconstruction of his own. It wasn’t something to feel joy or sorrow for. It was simply a fact. It was simply the equilibrium of the universe.
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