The Etheric Cathedral
The fog thickened over London like a shroud drawn across a dying man's face. Eleanor Ashworth stood at the window of her brother's laboratory and watched the gas lamps flicker below, their yellow halos bleeding into the fog like watercolors on wet paper. "They're calling it a cathedral," Thomas said from the workbench, not looking up from his calculations. "A steam-powered cathedral. Moveable....
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