Like sharp iron towers forged for gods too arrogant to accept the earth beneath their feet, the skyscrapers of Paradise pierced upward into the silver-veined night, stabbing toward the heavens with that glittering illusion of dominance rich cities loved to wear before the unreachable height of the sky humbled them into silence.
They could not touch the clouds no matter how violently they reached, could not bruise heaven no matter how many floors they stacked beneath themselves, yet their artificial radiance still fought beautifully against the dark, pouring gold, silver, blue and violet into the cold upper air until the would-have-been black skies above Paradise became something sculpted, expensive and almost holy in the most financially offensive way imaginable.
