The Golden Visit
The hall was a cathedral of bone and light. It stretched across the valley of the dead, its spires piercing a sky that was not a sky but a bruised membrane of violet smoke. The architecture defied gravity. Arches twisted like vertebrae. Windows were not glass but suspended tears, frozen in mid-fall, refracting a sun that hung low and heavy, a red eye staring without blink. Thomas stood at the...
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