When the darkness embraced the world into its eternal, indiscriminate love — folding the sky into a blanket of obsidian and extinguishing the last vestiges of the day's tyrannical sun — the penthouse grew dim with it.
It would then be wholly immersed in the ablution of artificial luminescence, but always at the discretion of the resident to calibrate as they saw fit; rudimentary logical reasoning, really.
The architecture was designed to accommodate vanity at any hour.
Up here — at this altitude, at this remove from the mundane earth and its pedestrian concerns — existence resembled something approximating divinity; living in the heavens while the world below teemed with what could only, from this vantage, be described as peasants in the well-manicured theatre of one's own pampered and privileged life.
The resident, the deity.
