In front of them, there's a vast glass dome reinforced with lattices of polished steel, its surface pulsing faintly with blue neon veins that traced along the structure like living circuits.
The dome stood on a raised, diamond-shaped platform, gleaming against the rain-slick streets, an architectural marvel of symmetry and cold precision. Every edge was sharp, every reflection deliberate, the kind of beauty only wealth and machinery could create.
One by one, sleek cars glided to a stop at the base of the grand staircase. Valets in dark uniforms moved swiftly under the neon glow, their gestures efficient and silent. Doors lifted upward, and from each vehicle stepped the city's elite men and women, draped in luxurious haute couture.
Their attire shimmered beneath the lights: gowns made of liquid-fabric silk that shifted color with each movement, tailored suits lined with luminous thread, and jewelry that caught and fractured the glow into scattered constellations.
