Exchange

It was afternoon in Avalon’s downtown. On the busy street, a white stone building took up much of Avalon’s golden mile. The front yard within the black gates was empty. Guarded by two statues of saints at the end of the yard, the front door of the Musician Union was always open. Even in the daytime, the candles were lit, exuding a vague coldness and seriousness. Here, people came and went in silence. In the stern atmosphere, everyone seemed grave and serious.

This was the Musician Union’s branch in Avalon. Across the street was the Westminster Church. Different from the Musician Union’s silence, the church was bustling and full of commotion. There was an endless stream of religious followers coming over in carriages, or merchants going to exchange, or store their money orders or holy emblems.