We are sitting and we are writing this upon paper made thousands of years ago. The light is dim,and we cannot see the Golden One, only one lock of gold on the pillow of an ancient bed.
The house had two stories and a strange roof flat as a floor. The was more window than wall upon its walls, and the windows went on straight around the corners, though how this kept the house standing we could not guess.
Never had we seen rooms so full of light. The sun-rays danced upon colors, colors, more colors than we thought possible, we who had seen no houses save the white ones, the brown ones, and the grey.