Wonderland Glass Novels & Stories

Quinn hadn’t left his room in hours. I knew because I’d been watching the thin line of light under his door since dusk, and it hadn’t moved once. The crew were in wonder. They whispered that he was speaking with my father through the dark glass orb. The one Korra delivered. The one that pulsed faintly red whenever someone held it. Warlock-made. Rare. Called the glass between worlds. Only a handful in existence, or so they said. The kind of artifact you didn’t so much own as owe.

We led her through the labyrinthine corridors of the estate, the marble floors cold beneath our feet, until we reached the western wing. ​The "Glass Room" was a feat of architectural terror. It was a cantilevered box that jutted out over the cliffside, three hundred feet above the churning Atlantic. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling were nothing but reinforced glass. Standing in the center of it felt like floating in the eye of a storm.