The Wistful Campus
The ink had begun to bleed, a slow, viscous hemorrhage of violet and black that consumed the parchment of the great ledger, spreading its capillary tendrils through the fibers of the paper with a patience that mirrored the creeping, silent erosion of the mind itself, while Professor Elias Thorne stood before the desk of the Dean, his fingers trembling not from the chill of the stone-walled...
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