The Golden Master
The glass shatters. Not with a bang, but with a scream of thin, high-pitched failure. You hear it before you see it. A crack runs through the center of the specimen. It is a perfect fracture. Symmetrical. Cold. You look up. The room is vast. The ceiling arches like the ribcage of a leviathan, painted in frescoes of golden light and falling angels. The air is still. It smells of ozone and old...
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