The Distant Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended curtain of gray mist that clung to the high, vaulted ceilings of the cathedral-like tribunal, a place where the air was so thick with the scent of damp stone and old incense that it felt less like atmosphere and more like a physical substance pressing against the lungs of those who dared to breathe within its confines. Margaret Holloway...
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