Palace of Bones
At the very heart of I’Cath, rising above the Mansions and shrouded streets, stands the Palace of Bones—an elegant, blighted edifice that embodies the dream-tyrant Tsien Chiang’s vision of perfection and her decaying humanity. It is the architectural crown of the dream, a palace of white stone that gleams like polished ivory, shaped from marble, bone, and unknowable sorceries. In the dreaming realm, it is radiant, vast, and serene. In the waking world, it groans with sorrow, its beauty stained by ruin, neglect, and horror.
The Palace of Bones is a monument to Tsien Chiang’s vision, grief, and tyranny—a palace where every petal is poisoned, every echo is a memory, and every dream is a cage. It is beautiful beyond mortal means, but like all of I’Cath, its beauty is hollow.
“She built it to house her dreams. Now it houses her regrets.”
Architecture
The palace gates open onto a wide, tiered courtyard, alive with unnaturally vibrant flora. Each plant is a marvel: orchids with mirrored petals, twisting moonflowers that unfurl in rhythmic pulses, and translucent ferns whose fronds whisper. But every vine is venomous, their scents cloying and narcotic. Touching them causes visions—of the dream-city, of Tsien Chiang’s daughters laughing, of golden order descending from above.
Some say the courtyard garden is planted over hundreds of graves, each flower a remembrance—or a punishment.
The Palace Interior
- Hallways echo with silence, each corridor adorned with immaculate but crumbling friezes that show I’Cath as it “should be”—clean, happy, symmetrical.
- Servants, dressed in robes of gold thread, glide through the halls. These are not people but empty skins filled with dreamstuff, obeying Tsien Chiang’s every command.
- Floating lanterns drift above, casting warm light that never dispels the palace’s deep chill.
The palace bends to the dreamer’s moods. At times it gleams, humming with ethereal song. At others, its walls bleed, mirrors shatter spontaneously, or entire wings rot away into mist, only to rebuild overnight.
Deep within the Palace lies Tsien Chiang’s sanctuary: a gold-paneled tower with no windows. Inside:
- A shrine to her ideal self, carved from alabaster, stands in the center, surrounded by offerings of blood-red fruit and polished jade.
- Her daughters' chambers—long sealed—are untouched since the days they were whole. Here, toys arrange themselves at night, and soft lullabies drift from locked doors.
- Her bedchamber changes nightly, as Tsien Chiang dreams it anew. It often resembles a peaceful study or a throne room filled with papers marked with perfect city plans, their margins weeping ink.
The highest point of the palace is Ping’On Tower, a narrow spire of stone and bone rising into the mists. Each night, Tsien Chiang ascends the winding stairs and tolls the Nightingale Bell, a sound that pierces the veil between dreams and waking.
The toll of the bell pulls the citizens of I’Cath into her dream—into her flawless city where she rules absolutely. But those who resist the dream or wake too soon often feel the bell’s effects as a ripping pain in their soul, and phantoms of themselves may wander in both worlds.
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