The Territory was just as Sylas remembered it… albeit through a filter of black and violet.
It felt as though all the greenery had been tinted through an amethyst lens, shifted on the color spectrum until the pine needles and evergreen foliage all looked as though it was being projected out from a fever dream.
The bark of the trees had always been dark, but now they felt a touch too dark, as did the soil. It felt unnatural, not quite like they had chiseled it out of cast iron, but close.
Nothing about the Territory felt like it was truly out of place, and yet it felt particularly…
Wrong.
Sylas imagined that this would be how it would feel to step into the Demonic World, a world that was a perfect mirror of their own, except broken in a fundamental way you couldn't quite put your finger on.
Yet, maybe that was precisely how Demons looked at their worlds as well.
