Cassandra never believed in magic-until she woke up with wings.
One moment, she's living her ordinary life in London. The next, she's stranded in a mysterious, ancient realm brimming with danger and beauty beyond imagination. As she grapples with he...
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As Cassandra approached the pub, the ruins around her began to shift. The crumbling stones and ancient walls gave way to a building that stood in stark contrast to its surroundings. The pub was nestled in the heart of the ruins, like an oasis of life in a desolate world. Its exterior was made of dark wood, worn and weathered by time but still sturdy, with an almost enchanted quality to it. Thick vines, threaded with glowing flowers, crawled up its sides, giving it an ethereal glow that pulsed gently in the twilight. The windows were framed in wrought iron, their panes shimmering faintly with the glow of lanterns inside.
The sign hanging above the door was faded, the letters barely legible in a foreign script that Cassandra somehow understood to mean something like "The Broken Crown." The sign swung gently in the breeze, creaking softly, but its presence seemed inviting rather than ominous.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Cassandra was greeted by a warmth that immediately enveloped her. The interior was bathed in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows across the room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes, their contents shimmering in hues of deep reds, blues, and golds. Some of the bottles seemed to glow from within, pulsing with an otherworldly light. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, low and heavy, adding a sense of coziness despite the vastness of the space.
The floor was stone, polished smooth from centuries of footsteps, but covered in rich, ornate rugs that muffled the sound of movement. Tables made of dark mahogany were scattered throughout the room, each one unique, with intricate carvings that seemed to tell stories of old. Some tables were lit by floating candles, their flames flickering in time with the soft hum of conversation that filled the air.
Behind the long, curved bar stood an imposing figure—a bartender with sharp, angular features and eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. His skin had the same ethereal shimmer as the creatures outside, but there was a warmth in his expression as he polished a glass with a cloth. His wings, darker than those of the other beings, were folded neatly behind him, and his movements were calm, almost methodical.
The patrons were a mix of the ethereal beings Cassandra had seen outside and others who looked more human but were no less striking in their appearance. They sat at the tables or leaned against the bar, speaking in that same foreign tongue that Cassandra found herself understanding, even if she couldn't quite place how.
The scent of spices, aged wood, and something floral mingled in the air, creating a heady atmosphere that made Cassandra feel both relaxed and alert at the same time. The low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the soft crackling of a fire in the hearth all blended together in a soothing symphony of sound.
In one corner, a musician played a stringed instrument that was unfamiliar to her, but the melody was haunting and beautiful, weaving through the room like a living thing. The music seemed to touch the very walls of the pub, resonating with the energy that pulsed through the space.
