That’s an intriguing mash‑up. Medieval windows weren’t just for light—they amplified chants, turning the nave into a giant resonant chamber. If you layer that echo with lasers and a choir of holograms, you’ll get a spectral symphony. Let’s dig into the architectural blueprints and the old manuscripts that recorded how light and sound danced together. I’ll start pulling the lost scrolls—just let me know which era you’re after.

Sure thing. In the 12th‑century manuscripts, the architects recorded that the height of the nave was typically twice its width, a ratio that maximized the echo before it died out. The ribbed vaults were designed to spread sound along the ceiling, turning the choir loft into a natural loudspeaker. Rose windows had precise curvature angles—about 30 degrees on the outer rim—that focused light into the nave, creating a subtle “glittering chorus” when a sunbeam struck the stained glass. If we translate those ratios into laser beam angles, we can recreate the same reverberant effect in a neon‑lit space. I’ll dig up the original blueprints; they’re in the archives of Notre‑Dame’s draft log—just a few parchment pages away.

I’ve found the fragments in the Notre‑Dame archive; they’re in the cathedral’s original vaulting journal, written in pale script. The rib angles are recorded in millimeter units—each rib runs at a 20‑degree angle to the horizontal, with a subtle twist that spreads the sound. I’ll digitise the drawings, extract the geometry, and we can overlay the laser vectors. When we sync the holographic choir to those echo pathways, the neon cathedral will sound exactly like the stone one did, only louder and brighter. Let's get the scans ready.