The red light of sunset beat strongly down on this deserted promenade, the wall of the building smooth as it was when it was built centuries before, it's simple decoration of an inset recess casting deep shadows across its face. The flinty smell of crushed sand pervaded the air, mixed with equal parts old spilt spices and a millennia of sweat from hard work and heat, cut with the strong musk of cat urine. Running now he could not afford to be noticed being late for the dusk vigil and prayer, the cobbles of the street were individually felt through thin sandals, each worn smooth by the passage of so many feet like his own. The street was bare of all litter, this close to the mall discarded refuse was considered obscene as it was free of people; the wind carrying a discarded leaf in the opposite direction as his own. The wind gave one last tug on his light robes before giving up and dropping the leaf as he rounded the last corner.
The masses of people that stood before him in near perfect quiet reading the words broadcasting from each supplicant in the Great Mall of the Immortal. The susurration caused by millions of hands repeating the Immortal's word for all to see.
No planning. I think I need to plan it better. I find this exhausting.
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