The Golden Circuit
The roof is leaking again, Thomas, and this time the water does not fall in drops but in thick, viscous sheets that smell of wet wool and old iron. I am writing to you from the nave of St. Jude’s Chapel, a structure that was supposed to be solid stone but has begun to feel, in these last weeks, like something that breathes, and I need you to understand that I am not losing my mind, I am merely...
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