A chill wind scurried by me, trying to flip my hair in my face; succeeding. I looked forward and up, seeing my own home as if I had never seen it before. It was a Tower of Night, named partly for the black stone it was carved from. It stood in a grove of protective trees, twisted and horribly alive, more so than any other trees in this world. Their thick, gnarled trunks crowded together, blocking a way out with a wall of whispering wood. Their branches alternately stretched upward, coiling around each other, and thrust towards any intruder. For me, however, they parted, somehow moving aside to let me pass with hissing reverence.