The Golden Visit
The brick of the old town hall is warm under your palm, a feverish heat that seeps into the skin and settles in the marrow, a silence that is not empty but full of the weight of unspoken things. You stand before the great oak doors, the wood grain swirling like the eddies of a dark river, and you feel the building breathing, a slow, industrial sigh of steam and iron that has persisted through...
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