As Tempesti approached the base of the tower she allowed her wayward gaze to draw her upward, awe edged with a strange resentment rising within her as she took in the byzantine stonework. Even in its weathered state, the detail carved into the pale stone called for admiration in a voice not quite lost to the centuries. From the city’s shore the Tower had seemed almost small despite the height at which it loomed in her mind. Standing at its feet she could feel its insistence, its demand for deference, for reverence, for fear. It saw the insignificance of all who entered its halls and commanded that they see it for themselves, feel it to the very core of their being. Eyes closed for several long moments, granting her a brief respite from the Tower’s impositions before pushing herself closer to the monumental doors ahead. The patinaed bronze panels stood many times the diminutive senshi’s height, bearing the unmistakable image of a harpy cast in high relief against the backdrop of a starry sky, all contained within an ornate frame encompassing the pointed arch of the doors. Delicate flowers twined their way around the frame’s borders. She knew it should be colorful, a half-dizzying array of hues, not the anemic grey-green that greeted her from beyond the rubble that held the doors open. Some quiet part of her wondered how quickly they’d stripped the gilding from the Tower after some nameless war. With careful determination, she shoved aside the smaller debris before eyeing the larger pieces. She knew that with her enhanced strength she could probably shift them. Hopefully. But there was no way to know if trying to shut the door would do more harm than good. With a slight huff, she clambered over the fallen stone into the twilight within.

Her body carried her into the Tower unthinkingly. This was where she belonged. This was where Ruin should reside. She shook her head, dislodging a few locks of hair loosened by the rough waters. Whatever these feelings were, they weren’t hers, even if they were once. They didn’t have to be hers. She wouldn’t let them be hers. Shoving the hair haphazardly back into place, she strode through a narrow antechamber with purpose, if not confidence. In sharp contrast to the delicate design throughout of the rest of the tower, a massive golden door stood open between the antechamber and the sanctuary beyond. Its weight was not unlike how she imagined the entrance to a bank vault, an image easily reinforced by the series of massive locks visible on both sides.

Despite the stone beneath her feet, Tempesti found her footfalls muffled by a thick layer of plant matter. Petals, leaves, meeting her approach with a desiccated crunch or the soft yielding of the newly fallen, years of regrowth encircling her ankles anew with each step. The room itself was enormous, the apex of its vaulted ceiling marked by a colossal plume of pale purple blossoms. Perhaps drawing upon a sense of ancient duty the columns remained standing, steadfast in the face of the ages even as so much of the Tower decayed around them. A single narrow staircase curved along the wall of the tower, spiraling beyond her view as it approached the upper floors and passed the fractured windows of stained glass. The lowest steps were hopelessly shattered, impossible to traverse, at least for now. She knew, of course, that the other side of the sanctuary held another staircase. One which spiraled downward into the depths below. One which led only to death. She closed her eyes briefly, refusing to face it. She couldn’t. Not yet. Eventually, soon, she would have to venture below and confront the cold truth. When a fractured bone set incorrectly, there was nothing to do but rebreak it, face the pain anew and set it right.