The Faded Sutra
The iron lattice of the Great Hall did not breathe, yet it seemed to pulse with a low, subsonic hum that I felt in my teeth before I heard it in my ears. I sat at my desk, a slab of polished oak that had once been part of a cathedral nave, and stared at the blueprints spread before me. They were not merely architectural plans; they were maps of a labyrinth that had no exit, only deeper chambers...
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