The Lost City of Knowledge

The walls were marble-- that pure glossy white seeming to be scorched by black tar. They shone bright and audacious, eerily aglow without the aid of any natural light, as there were no windows. There seemed to be no artificial light either; the room was alight simply incongruously, the glow seeming to come from the vivaciousness that was the walls being brought together and sealed up. The room pulsed with energy and breathed with a chilly sigh that clung to any moving being that seemed to enter the room. And this was not so off-putting, in fact, in all its sketched elegance, the walls and the room were rather resplendent and enticing. None more so than the majestic marble statue that stood in the middle of the room. 

The figure was a blanched white. She was kneeling, the detail of her sandal seemed to be a focal point when entering the room. Her calf looked smooth and icy, yet still cordial. The draping of her dress seemed all too life-like as the folds cascaded over one another and only but lightly outlined the shape of her toned torso and abdomen, and that of her trailing leg that kept her balanced. Her arms were outstretched wide-- so delicate, thin and exquisite in lightness-- but commanded such a ferocity as to be gesturing to her awaiting and anxious army. Her neck was long and elegant, her chin was pointed, and yet her face was rather plain. Hardened and thick, she could've been a general, but the plainness of her face spoke to her innocence. No scratches or scars nor definitive features like high cheekbones or wide eyes. Her hair was done up in a braid that circled around the crown of her head and then hung down, whispering to her shoulders as little ringlets. She wore a circlet of leaves as a crown and when considered with every other physicality could've been mistaken for Athena, goddess of wisdom. However, she was not. She was Fortuna, goddess of fate. 

After a moment, the room becomes stale. The air stops being cool and the walls stop glowing so warmly. The statue becomes less innocent, the color changing from that of an eggshell to something of a concrete wall. The whole room has become more like a hospital rather than a museum. 

A long, thin rivet of maroon falls from the statues immovable and pupil-less eye and trails smoothly down the apple of her right cheek and down to the edge of her chin where it threatens to free fall unto her collarbone. But instead, it simply follows the curve of her chin and meets under her chin, where it patiently awaits that of the other drop slowly dripping down the left cheek, this rivet being more crimson than anything. As the second drop climaxes towards its impact with that of the other drop on the underside of the chin, the room starts to grow warm. The marble walls start to sweat and appear darker as the second drop finally christens the edge of the chin and meets the other drop in the middle, where they merge and drip down onto the center of her chest. The room smells of salt and various metals, bitterly growing stronger as the room heats up. 

As the room swelters, papers begin to fall from the blackened ceiling. They look old, ancient, some ripped and tattered; they float swiftly but lightly. Soon the smell retreats, replaced with the new, stronger smell and subsequent taste of charred paper. The papers start to fall aflame. 

They fall on top of each other, forming intimate campfires until the fires start to merge, cracking and popping until the fire is all consuming, overtaking the room with a deafening roar. There is no accelerant to be seen and yet the fire rages on, sustained only on its sheer fury.

The statue seems unaffected by the fire until, as the brightness of the fire becomes more intense than the searing heat, the statue begins to shudder and rumble until finally the statue implodes and falls in on itself. The head concaves into the neck, the blood on the chest seeming to have trailed up from the hollowness of the gaping neck. Soon the neck falls, as does the chest, the arms breaking off and falling on their respective side onto the flames below. Soon the statue is nothing more than a braced knee and attached calf and sandaled foot. The rest of the statue is rubble and soon the fire is infiltrating the pebbles, flicking to and fro in front and behind the remaining part of the statue until finally, the leg crumbles and the statue is nothing but dust in the wake of a raging fire and papers that keep fluttering down aflame-- whole books, mysteries of the world, passages of time, all lost.