City Of Glass Graphic Novels & Stories

He thought about the division in the west glazing as both the building line division and the eye level division — two different principles arriving at the same height, the correct height confirmed by both. He drew the division line in pencil across the west wall at eye level. The upper glazing above — the sky, the morning, the light above the peripheral. The lower glazing below — the afternoon directional light in the peripheral zone, the zone requiring the diffusing glass. He drew the floor. The city library stone floor — not the timber floor of the village hall with its worn centre, the stone floor that held the city's use without marking it individually. He drew the stone as the floor of

I look out at the city that is mapped with sky-high buildings in modern sleek designs. Cars queue along the roads and the faint sound of horns blaring can be heard from drivers impatient to get to their destinations. My eyes flick to a building far across the business district. A building that towers several storeys higher than ours. The biggest here… the exterior is full glass, with words in matt black running along the side that you can read from miles away, set against a silver background. ARAN KING I look away, the pain that would once clench at my heart as a reminder of my ex, a pain that would claw at me like poison is almost non-existent…

His cock filling me while thirty stories of city watch through the glass. I moan against the window. My breath fogs the glass. His hands grip my hips – the first time his hands have been on my body below the neck – and he pulls me back onto his cock while pressing me forward against the window. The cold glass on my tits, the hot cock in my pussy, the city below – the contrasts shatter me.

This is what I can tell you about what the glass is. It is not absence. People think it is absence — a switching off, a going away. It is not that. You are still there. You register everything. The weight, the cold of the sheets, the sound of the garden outside continuing its complete indifference. You register the specific quality of him — the unhurried thoroughness of a man who has decided something belongs to him and sees no reason to pretend otherwise. You register all of it. What the glass does is hold it at a distance that makes it survivable. Like looking at something very bright through smoked glass — you see it, you know what it is, you do not let it burn you. You file it. You note

“God, I could come just like this.” But he didn’t. He pulled out, chest rising hard, his c*ck glistening with my spit. “Stand up,” he ordered. I wobbled to my feet. He walked me to the wall of glass windows overlooking the city. Pressed me against it. The cool surface made my n*ppl*s tighten. “Do you feel that?” he murmured in my ear. “The city below us. Thousands of people. And none of them know I’m about to f*ck you against the glass.”

To disobey a dragon is to disobey a god. — The Caretaker’s Oath How long is the fall down to earth? I lean against the fence that marks the drop from the floating city to the desert below, digging my fingernails into the wet wood. The city rests drowsy behind me, golden spires and cobblestone roads cloaked in morning mist. My legs shake underneath me. I fidget with my scaled fingerless gloves. It’s morning already.

The sun hung gently in the sky over the vibrant city of New York, casting a golden glow across the bustling streets and towering skyscrapers. But tucked within the heart of the city was a quiet haven, a breathtaking aquatic glass dome nestled inside the renowned SeaLife Gallery. It shimmered under the light like a crystal orb, its transparent walls offering a surreal view of vibrant fish swimming freely in sapphire waters. The soft sound of water flowing beneath the glass bridges made the entire place feel like a fantasy far removed from reality.

But the longer I stared, the more it watched back. Perched on a vast cliffside plateau, Silverspire rose like a god’s sanctuary above Nocturne City’s flickering skyline. Towering steel-and-glass spires pierced the heavens, their silhouette sharp and elegant like gothic fangs. The dark-stone façade absorbed the sunlight, while blackened glass gleamed with a quiet menace, reflecting both sky and forest like a living thing.

The amber liquid swirled in the glass, mirroring the complexities roiling within me. Taking a slow sip, I walked toward the wide, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. Lights pulsed in a kind of rhythm – each one a story, a failure, a lie. I admired the way they blinked like signals from a sinking ship, each tiny beacon representing a desperate attempt to stay afloat in a sea of ambition.