The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-19 00:33:33 -

The sky above the university quad did not darken; it simply ceased to be. One moment, the November light was the color of weak tea, filtering through the bare branches of the elm trees, and the next, the air itself thickened into a viscous, amber fog that smelled of ozone and old paper. I was standing by the bike rack, my satchel heavy with the proofs for my monograph on late-Victorian agrarian...

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