A Proud Gate. Silver and Brass intertwined to form Fey Shapes.

The Emperor is bound in chains, and his throne stands empty. His consort, her skin an exalted conflagration, rules in his stead. Their courtiers, enticing shades dressed in outrageous fashions, crowd the deep dark hall and prostrate themselves under her might.

A man sits at his desk. Behind him, a gilded frame holds the flaming throne room. The burning shapes continue to move, and his dress is as outlandish as theirs. The smell of kahwe and sulphur is heavy in the air. A woman, her skin a Feyish white, approaches and drops to her knees. She crawls towards him, and he receives her under his desk.

You are now: Dreaming of Fire and Brass

You wake with a troubling erection.