The Wistful Show
You stand before the great stained-glass window of the Palace of Arts, your hands trembling not from the cold that seeps through your woolen coat, but from the weight of the silence that has accumulated around you like dust in an abandoned library. The light filtering through the panes is fractured, a kaleidoscope of amethyst, emerald, and deep, mournful blue, casting long, disjointed shadows...
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