The Wistful Campus
The rain had been falling on the moor for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the heather into a bruised, sodden mass, and it was into this deluge that Elara Vane walked, her boots sinking deep into the mud that sucked at her heels with a wet, desperate sound, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that fogged the air before her face, which was pale as the bone of a bleached bird,...
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