The Wistful Campus
The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and grey as wool. It swallowed the streetlights. It swallowed the cobblestones. It swallowed the world. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the pier. He watched the mist. He waited. The institution demanded silence. The institution demanded order. The institution was a machine of iron and steam. It did not breathe. It did not feel. It only...
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