There is a particular quality to rain when it falls on a building that has been standing for six hundred years. It sounds heavier. It sounds like it has been doing this for a while.
This is two hours of that, steady rain against stained glass, thunder rolling somewhere over the towers, a fire in the grate that nobody has tended in an hour, and strings so quiet you will forget they are there. No lyrics. No sudden shifts. Nothing that will pull you out of a chapter.
It was made for the books below, and for the specific pleasure of reading somewhere very old while the weather does the work outside.
It also happens to be excellent for studying, writing, or doing nothing at all with the lamp on.
