ABC Amber Text Converter

ABC Amber ePub Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abcepub.html5In the House, away from my enemy, I find solace for a time. Grief, loss, pain melt away. I wonder ifthey cannot exist inside these walls.The weight of my spear in the holster beneath my arm is back, heavy against my side. Like V’lane,Darroc has some way of taking it from me, but when we are apart he returns it. Perhaps so I can defendmyself. I can’t imagine needing to in a place such as this.There has never been and will never be another place in any realm, in any dimension, that holds me insuch thrall as the White Mansion. Not even the bookstore competes for dominance in my soul.The House is mesmerizing. If, deep down inside where I feel psychotic, I am angered by this, I’m toolulled by whatever drug it feeds me to focus on it for long.I wander the rose-floored corridor, absorbing it in a dreamy daze. Windows line the right side of thehall, and, beyond the crystal-edged panes, dawn blushes over gardens filled with pink roses, wreathedheads nodding sleepily in the gentle morning breeze.The rooms that open off this corridor are decorated in hues of morning sky. The colors of the hall, theday beyond, and the rooms complement one another perfectly, as if, from every angle, this wing wasdesigned as an outfit, flawlessly accessorized, to be donned depending on the mood.When the rose floor ends and a sudden turn in the corridor sets me on a lavender path, violet duskclings to the windows. Nocturnal creatures frolic in a forest glade beneath a moon rimmed with brilliantcerulean. The rooms in this corridor are furnished in shades of twilight.Yellow and reflective floors open onto sunny days and sunnier rooms.Bronze corridors have no windows, only tall arched doors that lead into enormous, high-ceilinged,kingly rooms—some for dining, some filled with books and comfortable chairs, others for dancing, andstill more for what I think are forms of entertainment I don’t understand. I imagine I hear echoes oflaughter. Lit by candles, the rooms off bronze corridors are masculine and smell of spice. I find the scentintoxicating, disturbing.I walk and walk, looking into this room and that, delighted by the things I find, the things I recognize.In this place, every hour of day and night is always available.I have been here many times before.There’s the piano I played.Here is the sunroom where I sat and read.There’s the kitchen where I ate truffles smothered in cream and filled with delicate fruits that don’texist in our world.Here, a flute lies on a table, beside an open book, next to a teapot decorated with a pattern as familiarto me as the back of my own hand.There’s the rooftop garden, high atop a turret where I’ve gazed through a telescope at an azure sea.Here, a library of endless rows of books, where I’ve passed time uncounted.Each room is a study in beauty, each item in it adorned with intricate detail, as if its creator had infinityin which to work.Page 35