Finding the seat was an adventure in itself.
Zeraphira treated every step down the dim aisle like a sacred procession, her crimson eyes darting around suspiciously as people shuffled past with popcorn buckets larger than newborn demons. The faint glow of the screen painted her pale skin in ghostly blues and silvers, and every time the surround sound rumbled, her fingers tightened slightly around my arm.
"This structure feels… like a cavern made by gods," she whispered as we moved between rows.
"It's just a cinema."
"Are the illusions summoned from within the wall?"
"From a projector."
She slowed.
"Project…or?"
"A machine."
Her lips parted.
"So humans craft devices that conjure visions large enough to dominate an entire wall."
"Yes."
"...Impressive. Disturbing. Slightly heretical."
"Zera."
We finally reached our row. I guided her to the middle seats, and she sat with slow dignity, as though taking her throne upon a battlefield carved from velvet and plastic cup holders.
