The Wistful Skyline
The dream did not begin with light, but with the sensation of a heavy, wet wool coat draped over his shoulders, smelling of damp stone and old, stagnant water. Thomas stood in a courtyard that should not have existed, a place of grey flagstones slick with rain and the shadow of a wall so high it seemed to scrape the belly of the sky. He was seven years old, or perhaps he was older, for time in...
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