"Where are we going, anyway?"
Morgan looked out of the window at the blurry outlines of the old buildings, with plumes of foaming water escaping from the rusty drainpipe spouts. The gutters were drowning and gargling, unable to swallow the rainwater fast enough — this part of the city was one of the poorer ones, with many houses standing empty and abandoned, condemned for renovation.
Sunny remained silent for a moment, then answered in a neutral tone:
"Somewhere we can regroup and plan what to do next without worrying about being killed by random passersby."
By now, he was starting to understand how the Palace of Imagination operated. It was designed to bring fantasies to life — fantasies that belonged to the Castle Master, to be precise. However, the wondrous mechanisms of this impossible place were broken and in a state of disrepair, having surrendered to the ruthless burden of time in the absence of their creator.
