(Image puts a terrible picture my mobile Moleskinero a wonderful drawing of Ant_in_sound, a true artist, able to translate their great ideas and inspire mere mortals)
the other side of the wall had only gardens and tourists.
The passing years had aged stone, soot and freckles green moss and mildew, so that the arches were visible only triples that formed the entrance, or the relief that engalaban, and the niches who had kept their secrets in delicate colors of scarlet, gold and blue. A frieze announced alliance between the two worlds, a symbol of community and balance that shows the image of the Byzantine Emperor's eldest daughter, received at the court of his father to the emissaries of the Lords of the North: a beautiful woman whose hair had just curled in tiny heads of snakes, a man with body horse and a child dressed in imperial purple.
Today, just a vague shapeless remnant survived to inclement weather, or the neglect of men. The few who came to sense their true beauty and power were relegated to the background, library scholars, historians whose personal lives were dying every night along with a gooseneck design and the cool image on the screen a computer, a CT of a biblical text of dubious reputation.
Day after day I see dozens of people stop to it every day, guided by the voice of an old officer who praises the virtues of his style. Just devote a fleeting glance of electronic targets before seeking more substantial architectural remains in the beautiful city of Bosphorus. Sometimes, but precious few, one of those modern adventurers kept staring at the door, peering beyond their old gardens, like, maybe, the answer to a question that his reason unknown. Some of them, even rarer moments brown eyes is a man of dark complexion and trademarks of war in their cheeks, or hear the threatening whisper of dozens of tiny snakes, flesh-hungry, making you feel a brief chill that freezes his heart despite the oppressive heat that laugh at the environment.
Across the garden, an army waiting. Forgotten soldiers facing our world through a doorway and polished white stone, decorated with jewels and exquisite carvings. Bloodthirsty and driven by the immense patience that comes from hate immeasurably to await the ignorant children of Byzantium keep forgetting that they are a threat to the cruel assaults of time to break the seal of his prison and go back to the city that once was theirs.
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