The Golden Crossing
You dream again of the house, not as it stands in the waking world, but as it was in the memory of your grandfather, a structure of breath and stone that seemed to inhale the fog off the moor before exhaling it as a whisper in your ear. In the dream, the walls are translucent, veined with gold that pulses like a slow, arterial heartbeat, and you stand in the center of the library, holding a...
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