The Circle of Creation is a large imposing building of got his architecture. It is an almost perfect replica of Westminster, but no one ever notices. Sleeper eyes slide over the building and only Awakened eyes can pierce the subtle occultation
Tuesday sits on the floor. A common occurance. But unlike many of the other times she'd been seen in the Circle like this, her jeans were grimy, her hair sticking up with flacks of grey dust covering it. And the scent coming off of her was the very recognizable one of lemon pledge.
The Circle was huge and they didn't have a robo maid.