It was a ruined banquet hall, with towering walls, cracked and crumbling pillars scattered throughout, and broken statues lying beneath the long, cracked stained-glass windows.
These windows cast coloured lights into the chamber, their panes depicting scenes of some kind of celebration, however, the figures at the centre of each image were marred by cracks and gaping holes.
A portion of the ceiling had caved in, leaving a large opening overhead, but through it, there was neither the sight of stars from a night sky nor the clouds of a daytime one.
There was nothing but darkness. An infinitely expanding darkness stretching in every direction.
At the far end of the banquet hall was a broken throne atop a small three-step dais, and seated upon it was a man.
He wore a brown pinstriped suit, with a top hat on his head and a walking stick held in his left hand. His free right hand tapped impatiently against the throne's armrest, matching the rhythm of his left foot.
