At the start of Caught in Amber, young Fae awakens without any memory of who she is or where she comes from.
The glad sun streamed in through four point-arched windows, filling her bedchamber with light.
She stretched and blinked and rejoiced. Then fell back against her banked pillows, grinning and studying the rollicking cornice molding that stretched around her room where the walls met the ceiling. Small carved suns with curling rays and merry faces somersaulted along the frieze as though they couldn’t keep still. That was the way they should be: energy-filled, laughing, and replete.
Of course, underneath Fae’s happy mood is a sense that something awful has been done to her. (Which it has.) Nor does she stay joyful long. The evil spirit haunting the castle where she finds herself attacks her in the very first chapter.
I’ve always loved imagery featuring the sun, the moon, and the stars. The castle, as Fae explores it, features these heavenly bodies both in the architectural detail of significant structures and in its underlying essence.
The illustration below reminds me of what I see in my mind’s eye when I imagine the cornice in Fae’s bed chamber.