SIHLMEGOZOK:
✹ STORY ✹
May of 1951 - May of 1990
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Anastaša Steinkellner and her aunt, Röse, are the owners of a grand hotel in the Anaist holy city of Sihlmegozok, Nebärav. In the wake of World War II, a civil war breaks out in the country, the catalyst being the religion of Anaism itself. It seems that there will be no divine armageddon; man will kill himself first.
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"I was an ugly little girl. Short bowl-cut bangs, crooked stork's beak for a nose, corduroy overalls, scabs and scabs and scabs. I was a wiry specimen with a thick tangle of raven feathers for hair. I still, to this day, sometimes find myself unable to stand the sight of pretty things (Jüli, of course, was likely the example that people will think of when I say this, but this skeletal repulsion had been stored in my pancreas for a good long while before I ever even met her). However, the peculiarity was that I could not help but fall in love with the arts. This was the strange tangle of vines that grew invasive in my gut for the entirety of my formative years-- 'Parallax': the illusionary offset of something against its backdrop due to a change in viewing position. If I closed my right eye, I could convince myself that the marble statues with their smooth skin and missing limbs in a museum were the secret of the universe. If I closed my left, I saw the plagues and the rape and Pompeii.
But the one thing I was most horrified by and, quite particularly, awed by, was the hotel. Oh, it was a living thing, with an esophagus in the elevators, stomach in the meat freezer, kidneys in the Eastern Thermae. 'Hoje Aleksandria'; Hotel Alexandria. It was magnificent, old and unchanging; I would be down in the city, looking up at it sitting on the summit of Mt. Bōdyäch, like something had torn a section out of the curtain of the sky, and the hotel was its eye peering through. The wars were bad. This building was somehow worse."
May of 1951 - May of 1990
✹✹✹✹✹✹
Anastaša Steinkellner and her aunt, Röse, are the owners of a grand hotel in the Anaist holy city of Sihlmegozok, Nebärav. In the wake of World War II, a civil war breaks out in the country, the catalyst being the religion of Anaism itself. It seems that there will be no divine armageddon; man will kill himself first.
✹✹✹✹✹✹
"I was an ugly little girl. Short bowl-cut bangs, crooked stork's beak for a nose, corduroy overalls, scabs and scabs and scabs. I was a wiry specimen with a thick tangle of raven feathers for hair. I still, to this day, sometimes find myself unable to stand the sight of pretty things (Jüli, of course, was likely the example that people will think of when I say this, but this skeletal repulsion had been stored in my pancreas for a good long while before I ever even met her). However, the peculiarity was that I could not help but fall in love with the arts. This was the strange tangle of vines that grew invasive in my gut for the entirety of my formative years-- 'Parallax': the illusionary offset of something against its backdrop due to a change in viewing position. If I closed my right eye, I could convince myself that the marble statues with their smooth skin and missing limbs in a museum were the secret of the universe. If I closed my left, I saw the plagues and the rape and Pompeii.
But the one thing I was most horrified by and, quite particularly, awed by, was the hotel. Oh, it was a living thing, with an esophagus in the elevators, stomach in the meat freezer, kidneys in the Eastern Thermae. 'Hoje Aleksandria'; Hotel Alexandria. It was magnificent, old and unchanging; I would be down in the city, looking up at it sitting on the summit of Mt. Bōdyäch, like something had torn a section out of the curtain of the sky, and the hotel was its eye peering through. The wars were bad. This building was somehow worse."
