End of the Line

I awoke in an atrium hurtling through a dark abyss. The beautiful terrazzo floor, embedded with blue like sapphires, shook beneath my feet, quaking, groaning, screeching.

Strange white lights winked over head. The atrium was filled with foreign nobles dressed in thick well made winter coats. They mostly had the appearance of those Germanic tribesmen, and spoke an ugly tongue that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

Periodically, the infernal hurtling would cease, and rise, as if divinely called, and the walls would part impossibly, and they would step out into grand corridors with curving walls clad in large tiles so perfect they must have been the finest bathhouses.

I confess I was dumbstruck. I sat, staring, gawping like Augustus. Eventually, I was alone, and dark abyss gave way to open grey skies. A grey temple tumbled into view, and I heard the end of the line approaching.