"Well, that's the thing." It had seemed so immense, hadn't it, that first time he saw it? A tangle of silver, like a finely-spun birds' nest, or a fairy carriage. Except for the pale, sickly light it had glowed with. "It got smaller. I sat with it for months, watching it, and it got smaller and smaller, as she herself began to sound happier. Sometimes, before I got here, I almost felt I could hold it in the palm of my hand."

Unlike his father's Palace, of course, which had bloated over the year like some sort of poisonous toad. But he doesn't bring that up.