The Wistful Skyline
You wake with the taste of iron and old dust in your mouth, the dream still clinging to your eyelids like wet silk. In the dream, the cathedral spire was not stone but bone, and it was breaking. You remember the sound, a high, thin shriek that vibrated in your teeth, followed by the heavy, wet thud of collapse. You are a scholar of medieval masonry, a man who has spent thirty years studying the...
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