Chapter 11: The Eye of Chrona
Nezether raised her thumb and middle finger, purple aether radiating from her hand in clawing striations as she rubbed the two into a snap.
The air surrounding Rowan began to undulate, waving past him with such speed that it caused the earth to crumble beneath his feet, his body slowly snaking back a couple inches.
The vibrant, glowing yet blank interior of her chamber began to contort, its shape disfiguring and enlarging as if one were to rapidly inflate a balloon, but as it rose, so too did it fall, transforming into a liquid form that defied gravity and form in manners inexplicable to the human mind.
Rowan's eyes widened, but his mind was not only caught on the dreamlike state of Nezethar's room, also focusing on the very space in front of him.
Beforehand, there'd been nothing but empty space enveloping the distance between himself and Nezethar, but some of the running fluid slithered forward across the floor to reach a few feet forward from him, vying for the ceiling as it expanded outward.
Spiky protrusions formed along the substance's corners, stretching out to merge into a top smooth surface while the rest coalesced into four cylindrical formations along the bottom.
Eventually, the purple essence settled, forming a color gradient as it transmuted from purple, then red, then brown, then light brown.
Small bright slivers crept across and from the ends of the solid to mimic true, authentic wood, the liquid used for the legs of the top brightening to a metallic silver and solidifying.
"My writing table...?" Rowan said, his eyes wide and limbs taut.
"Ah, so that's what this is." Nezether said, repeatedly curling and unfurling her fingers in the same way seers in fiction do when looking into a crystal ball.
The space above the table turned into a blinding white, clashing with the vanishing purple while forming into one cohesive form.