The Golden Song
The dream was not of the future, but of the architecture of the past, a sprawling, gothic labyrinth of iron and glass that stretched out beneath a sky the color of bruised plums. I stood in the center of the Grand Hall, a place I had never seen in waking life, yet knew with the absolute certainty of a second nature. The walls were not built of brick, but of layered, translucent sheets of...
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