However boring and pedestrian this seems, I remind myself I’m in an alternate world hidden behind an unassuming boulder in Central Park. A faerie circle, or as we call them—a slip. But don’t think of this as Hogwarts. Imagine Jane Eyre’s Lowood with less charm.
Wooden floors are scuffed and scratched, their shine worn away long ago. Vaulted ceilings sport plaster as cracked as desert playa. Dusty chandeliers hint at a grand space that is long gone. Cheap, battery-operated lanterns hang from rusty nails along the wall. A blue plastic bucket collects drips from a ceiling leak at the far end of the room.
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