Welcome to lore legends, a subset of lore episodes that explore the strange tales we whisper in the dark,

even if they can't always be proven by the history books.

So if you're ready, let's begin. A museum is a sacred space.

You see, buildings don't have to contain a pulpit to be sacrosanct.

In a world that increasingly values bite-size blurbs over in-depth education, any hallowed hall dedicated to the

slow, intentional consumption of knowledge is a place worthy of reverence. You can feel it's in the

air when you walk in, too. Something about a museum is just, still, as if the entire building

knows what treasure it holds, and knows that it's worthy of

respect. And in an environment like that, every exhibit label is a divine text, every whispered

exclamation, a shout of praise, every quiet question, a prayer. On the morning of May 3rd

of 1941, the World Museum in Liverpool, England England was filled with that same reverent hush.

Visitors wandered through vast halls full of ancient artifacts and animal bones.

Every step they took beneath that vaulted ceiling brought them closer to the altar of knowledge.

Everything was right. Everything was at peace.

But this would be the museum's last peaceful day

for years to come. That night, German pilots flew over Liverpool. Their bombs hit a nearby

building, and all too quickly the flames from that explosion reached the World Museum. Within

minutes, the entire place was destroyed. The before and after pictures

are hard to look at. That once sacred space was absolutely devastated. It can be surprisingly

simple to burn down any haven, be it's a museum, a church, or a life. All it takes is a bomb,

or bad news from a doctor, or the betrayal of a friend.

Outside forces can come in at any moment and shatter the peace.

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