The burned out remnants of a forgotten age. That was what Jonathan Phrase saw. Massive buildings - now nothing more than hollow shells - towered above him. Thousands upon thousands of empty windows. Broken shards of glass crunched under his boots as he stalked along a nameless street. A blackened skeleton lay in the middle of the road, arms reaching out as if trying to crawl away from him. He'd probably died instantly, Jonathan Phrase thought. When the orb shattered and unleashed the fires within, everything within a thousand miles perished. Far above, a pair of bright blue eyes watched him.
--
Book of the now: The Blade Itself, by Joe Abercrombie
Music of the now: Don't Pay The Ferryman, by Chris de Burgh
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