The Wilder estate had seen many mornings in its hundred-year history, but none quite like this one.
From the outside, the mansion looked like it had been attacked by a very artistic natural disaster.
Ice covered the eastern wing in crystalline patterns that spiraled up three stories, each level showing a different geometric design that pulsed with an inner light. The west wing was experiencing what could only be described as a localized aurora, with sheets of colored energy dancing across the windows in rhythm with some unheard cosmic symphony.
The gardens had been completely transformed overnight. What used to be carefully manicured topiaries were now either frozen solid in impossible shapes or had grown into towering trees that seemed to be reaching toward dimensions that didn't exist yesterday.
