The white fog that accompanied Yseult to this place settled around her body, thinning until it was little more than a luminous veil that clung to her shoulders and trailed from the hem of her robe like living mist.
The thirteen stone thrones, seven broken, six whole, formed a perfect ring as each intact throne was occupied by a figure shrouded in colored fog, their features completely obscured, their presence felt more than seen.
The hall itself was impossibly large, its ceiling lost in soft white light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. The floor was polished black marble veined with silver, reflecting the six colored mists like fractured rainbows.
There were no doors or windows in this hall, only the thrones of stone, whose purpose was older than any of the occupants here.
