russmaw

Blackened brass nozzles twisted haphazardly as if they were snaked entwined in acts of passion, but alas they were no more than elongated glowing steam vents.  Heat poured forth unabated, showering the room with a sort of pulsating light, barely above the dim reading level the wizened one cloaked with a burgundy hood seemed to enjoy. Glancing around the room, Ali stressed her youthful eyes, sparkling like emerald as she furiously examined the room, trying desperately to remember why she was there. The harder she though the more her head hurt, understanding nothing of the twisted wire shelves and thick leather bound paper that appeared stuffe