The Wistful Silence
The hall smelled of damp wool and expensive perfume. It was a thick, cloying scent that clung to the throat, a physical weight in the air of the university’s main lecture theater. I stood in the shadows of the rear balcony, my hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing gravity of the room below. Hundreds of faces looked up. They were waiting. They were always waiting for...
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