The world below me is a nightmare painted in black.
Everything feels like it's distorting.
From the top of the tower, standing on the high balcony, I watch as the flames move like a dark mist, swirling and spreading with a life of their own. They devour everything in their path, all the trees, the birds, the animals, the buildings, even the people, leaving nothing but blackened remnants in their wake. The sky is a tumultuous sea of gray and black, the sun a dim, struggling orb obscured by the smothering darkness.
The mist like fire, if that can even be called that, does not flicker like the usual fires; they glide and twist, more like tendrils of smoke than tongues of flame. It seems almost sentient, creeping and consuming with a deliberate, malevolent intent. I can see them licking at the edges of buildings, turning everything into corrupted bodies.
