The Stained-Glass Sphinx

Its feathers were made of shards of multicoloured glass, catching the light and throwing a prismatic riot against the grey marble of the far wall. Its eyes were aflame with cold smoke, the glint of an inscrutable intellect beholding all things with an air of irresistible intensity. And its voice was a terrible thing, a low rumbling that felt like it sent tiny daggers of shattered crystal into the spine. “I HAVE QUESTIONS FOR YOU…”