Within, the corridors are labyrinthine,A convoluted maze of marble dust,Where every frieze is fractured and opaline,Corroded by a supernatural rust.The tapestries are torn and iridescent,Depicting wars of hyper-mythic scope,Where gods and demons, ever-evanescent,Extinguished every vestige of a hope.Thorne walks with circumspect and measured tread,His consciousness a prism for the dark,Communing with the spirits of the deadTo find the hidden, primordial spark.He seeks the Word that birthed the universe,The blessing and the archetypal curse.Summary
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