The Golden Song
The dream has a texture of wet wool, a heavy, suffocating warmth that presses against your lungs before you have even opened your eyes. You are standing in the nave of the cathedral, but the stone is breathing. It expands and contracts with a slow, tidal rhythm, the mortar between the blocks pulsing like the veins of a giant, dormant beast. You know this place, or rather, you feel it in the...
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