All roads lead here, the Conduit says.
You cannot count the infinite paths.
To fathom every touch is madness.
But, brick by brick, time after time..
This place has written its own history.
How can it be so, in such a small plot,
To spin the tales of so many?
To be the grand hall of tears and joy,
misery and folly, hope and fear?
Who would we be without it?
How are we so bound to a singularity?
We must marvel at the commonness of it all.
We must marvel and be thankful.
We must marvel but not dwell.
All places, in all worlds are the shapers of creation.
