Listen to the chorus around this building. Listen to the layers of sound. Calls and shrieks. Croaks of throat and shudders of ripples where things half there whirl through pools shallow enough to step through. Deep enough to fall through. Get a bit closer now. Pass that unseen, unmarked border between Here and There. The weight of this place is the only warning, the only indication, that you've passed some border.
There are some buildings that weigh in the world as a ball bearing does in a sheet of rubber. Their presence is noted by how they distort the landscape. The feeling of space and the mass of the act of being push them deep down away from the mind and into some primal, perhaps reptilian, portion of our brain. The eye goes over these places and sees a building. Sees the thinness of reality around such places. Sees it stretched so thin by a presence that other things stare back at them through that fragile wall. Lidless and ancient. Patient and eternal.
Buildings like this are er