Excerpt of The Omen Machine by Terry Goodkind

Hannis Arc, working on the tapestry of lines linking
constellations of elements that constituted the language of
Creation recorded on the ancient Cerulean scroll spread out
among the clutter on his desk, was not surprised to see the
seven etherial forms billow into the room like acrid smoke
driven on a breath of bitter breeze. Like an otherworldly
collection of spectral shapes seemingly carried on random
eddies of air, they wandered in a loose clutch among the
still and silent mounted bears and beasts rising up on their
stands, the small forest of stone pedestals holding massive
books of recorded prophecy, and the evenly spaced display
cases of oddities, their glass reflecting the firelight from
the massive hearth at the side of the room.

Since the seven rarely used doors, the shutters on the
windows down on the ground level several stories below stood
open as a fearless show of invitation. Though they
frequently chose to use windows, they didn’t actually need
the windows any more than they needed the doors. They could
seep through any opening, any crack, like vapor rising in
the early morning from the stretches of stagnant water that
lay in dark swaths through the peat barrens.

The open shutters were meant to be a declaration for all to
see, including the seven, that Hannis Arc feared nothing.