The Wistful Show
We stood at the threshold of the cathedral, where the stone breathed cold and the air tasted of incense and old blood, and I asked you, with a voice that felt too heavy for the air, if you truly believed that the city was dreaming us awake, or if we were merely the nightmares it refused to let go of, for in the high medieval heart of this place, where the gargoyles watched with eyes of carved...
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