That castle, the centerpiece of the Garden of Pluto, rises high
and majestic upon the far shore beyond the turbulent moat. Its
design, a strange and fascinating beauty, both attracts and
repels. Turrets rise - and yet they waver in one's vision, fade,
and rise again. From windows shine light of fire within,
replaced at times by grotesque shadows on the panes.
The walls of purest white as though purity dwelt therein. A
drawbridge, extending well above the angry waters below. Huge
chains, cold and foreboding, wait patiently to lift its massive
weight. A door, broad and tall, dark, blocks rather than
welcomes the visitor. Above that door gargoyles of weird design
look down. Living, or hewn from stone, they cast a spell of evil
on all who pass this portal.
Within the guests of Pluto enjoy the viands from the far
reaches of earth. Wines to challenge even the nectar of
Olympus. Their bouquet ethereal and light, they entice and
capture. Food both delicate and strong. Strong meaty tastes, and
gentle taste of dainty herbs. Spices, strange and delicate
fruits. Music and song and dance, with cymbals, and stringed
instruments, and drums. With singers whose beauty rivals the
beauty of their song. And dancers nimble as wild goat, smooth
and gracious as swan. All these and more - for Pluto has on call
the most brilliant of entertainers.
Poets read their masterpieces, novelists theirs. Artists
display their paintings, statues.
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