Literature
Skin
Verden looked out of the window and sighed. It was a summer's day, complete with fresh grass, singing birds and rainbows. It was a good day, a perfect day; or it would be if the weather was real, and the window for that matter. It was just an illusion, a curtain, if he pushed it aside, it would only reveal the damp wall behind it. He grimaced; it had taken him almost a year to make all the windows on request of the King who was catering to the whims of the Higher Ups. The snobs who couldn't stand the fact that they were surround by grey brick and the green slime that seemed to trickle down from the ceiling. Not that there was anything good to