The Wistful Voyage
The rain hits the stone face of the abbey not with a whisper, but with a persistent, grinding patience, eroding the mortar that has held the world together for centuries. You are standing in the nave, or what remains of it, a space so vast and hollow that your own voice, if you were to speak it, would likely shatter against the distant, crumbling arches and return to you as a stranger’s cry....
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