The Wistful Campus
The iron gates of Blackwood Manor did not rust, for the air here was too dry, too ancient, and too thick with the silence of centuries to allow for the mundane corrosion of metal, and as I stood before them with my hands trembling not from the cold but from a terror so profound it had calcified into a strange, icy calm, I felt the weight of my own history pressing against my spine like a...
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