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The dust motes danced in the holy quiet,

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suspended in thick pillars of light that pierced

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the gloom of the nave.

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Brother Thomas adjusted his grip on the heavy

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iron broom, though the stone floor of the

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Grand Cathedral was already immaculate.

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He simply liked to stand here, dwarfed by

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the sheer scale of the sacred architecture,

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where human hands had reached upward in a

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desperate, beautiful bid to touch the heavens.

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Towering stone columns rose on either side of

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him like petrified giants,

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holding aloft a web of dizzying, tall arches

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that disappeared into the shadowy vaulting far above.

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The air smelled of cold ancient stone, faint

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melting beeswax, and centuries of quiet prayer.

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But it was the eastern wall that truly

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held the world at bay.

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There, a vast expanse of intricate stained glass

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flared to life as the midday sun struck

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its surface.

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Ruby reds, sapphire blues, and molten golds bled

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across the marble floor,

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painting the austere interior in a breathtaking cascade

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of living color.

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As Thomas watched, a stray breeze from the

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heavy oak doors rustled his woolen robes,

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and for a fleeting moment, the majestic atmosphere

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felt alive, as if the very walls were

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breathing.

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He closed his eyes, letting the symphony of

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colored light warm his face,

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finding absolute peace in the magnificent stillness of

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the sanctuary.