There is a long hall, somewhere.
It stretches into the distance, echoing across a landscape unknown to most.
She remembers when she first saw the Eye in the ruins of the Museum.
That was the first time she saw the Hall of Neverwhens. She’d been following Grandfather the Gull over a broken section of wall near the sea, picking her way over stones and pieces of great marble faces and arms, using bits of column as a bridge, here and there. Then she’d lost sight of him in the bright of falling fire, and when she’d found him again, his wing was burnt off, and his one remaining eye was white as a pearl.
Like a child, -well, she’d been a child, really- she’d reached for the Eye as it stuck there among the rocks and boulders and broken marbles, and of course, she’d been slapped away by a bloody-faced man in a green velvet coat. Then he’d taken another look. He’d grimaced at her, and then stepped away. Soon the footfalls had turned to running.
He’d left her alone with it.
Alone, with it.
That had been the beginning of the end.
The beginning of the End.
The Beginning of…