The Faded Guest
The dream began not with a sound, but with a texture, a roughness against the tongue like the inside of a dried riverbed, and then the world of Arthur Penhaligon, a man who had spent thirty years in the basement of the city archives, ceased to be a place of dust and silence and became a cathedral of screaming stone. He was standing in the center of the Great Hall, a space that had never existed...
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