Fateful wisp of blackest light summoned. Struck and steadily erupts. Trails off as vapours loosen into torrid night sky from topmost point, blotting out stars like spilled ink over jotted notes that cover the desk of desks. Downward tendrils fade to nothing visible until it all plumes back to life, fat and thick in a cloud, spitting soot fit to gag upon as the heat devours that which fills our lungs to fervour and to cough and gasp and choke. Horrendous cloud, the bottom rump licked at by the peaking blue light flickering there and then not there and again there, lashing back to excitedly spit the insistent stifling smog.
Underneath the blue electric tongue those orange and red churns and bursts, the fireworks of Hell, each colour eating the other, a rolling destruction inferno of rampant hurricanes and deathly gales, threaded with thin grey trails whisking and twisting in the impossibly hot maelstrom like lengths of twine. the cursed bells trembling terribly with the undaunted pressure of the chaos, inexplicably serene as it devours all amid the storm of rebirth to emit hot ash and scorched pungency.
Heard above the splintering of wood and popping of embers, the calls of the damned: Toanche Dwelling… Motions and gestures of rising esteem which followed… Vast Field Magnetism, a suitable home for a dwelling… Rotmans, a name to watch… Toronto, somehow… Clues within an otherwise all-too clueless scenario.
And once the fire had spent itself as forcefully and quickly as it could, every soul present was hushed to see not a pile of ash and rubble but instead a crystallized shuddering pagoda.