The Golden Song
The stone of the chapel did not merely stand; it endured, a monolithic silence that had swallowed the echoes of a thousand whispered prayers and kept them locked behind its rough-hewn facade, a testament to a permanence that mocked the fragile, fleeting nature of our mortal breaths. I stood before it, the wind from the moor biting at my face with the cold precision of a judgment I could not yet...
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