The Wistful Campus
The bell tower stood empty. No one rang it. Not for years. The stone was cold against Thomas’s palm. He climbed. His knees ached. The air was thin. Up there, the view was vast. The village lay below. A patchwork of roofs. Smoke. Silence. Thomas was a scholar. Or so they said. He had books. Many books. They were heavy. Damp. Rotting at the spine. He lived in the attic. Above the school. The...
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