Should you ever visit the embassy, there, on the border of the Wildlands, a starched and sensible tour guide will undoubtedly tell you that the green room holds no significance.
He or she will say that the lack of furniture, the feeling of disuse and sadness lingering in the air is all completely unintentional.
And, of course, the odds are that you will believe them, and you will never meet the beautiful thing that was trapped between worlds, long ago, in that room.
You will never know the silken slide of those sweet phantom lips on your naked skin. You will never feed her hunger or fuel her sighs…
You will never know the danger in beauty or, for one brief moment in your fragile, finite existence, catch an unfiltered glimpse of paradise.
Then again, you won’t die.
I suppose it is all for the best.