The walls are in distress and the floor is
beginning to crumble. Each chip away leaves
tangled webs of steal barbs that make up the
foundation of the floor. These crisscrossing
metal spears serve better than any thousand
dollar window pane, because they let you see
what's inside, what's down on the ground below,
rather than what's outside.


Yet, through this mess is a claim made by a
boy. A claim to a throne of decrepit stairwells.
A gloating story of quests and great heights,
surrounded by marvels that were never meant to
be described as so.