Wilomeana was torn in two. Her best friend was dying, while she was happy. Wilomeana was about to marry the man she loved. About to go on honeymoon. To stand on top of a Ziggurat. Wilomeana watched Septimius as he worked on their itinerary.
The view was fabulous, she could imagine the Ziggurat as it once was, glowing in the night. It had been topped with a golden couch, with the sides of the monolithic structure painted in brilliant colours. She never heard Septimius as he shouted a warning. She was falling, she was about to join her friend.
Footnote: On hindsight I believe this story needed more honing, or words. See comment section for this story.