Somewhere else, Sylmira stood by the window, her hand resting lightly on the frame as she gazed into the distance.
Beyond the rolling hills and trees she saw the sky had turned black, churning with violent clouds that stretched unnaturally far.
Forks of lightning flashed within them, silent at first but then followed by a low rolling rumble that seemed to shake the air.
Rain had not reached their side of the wall yet but the wind already carried the scent of ozone and something else. Something heavy, unfamiliar, and bad.
Arty, who sat cross-legged on the ground around her works looked up from the open grimoire she had been reading.
"You've been staring out there for a while," she said. "Something off?"
Sylmira didn't answer immediately. Her eyes narrowed as another streak of lightning split the horizon, this one tinged faintly with a purplish hue.
