The Wistful Campus
The iron is cold. It is always cold. You hold it against your cheek. The metal bites. The castle breathes. Stone dust motes dance in the shafts of light. You are the Warden. You are the keeper of the Key. The Key is in your pocket. It is heavy. It is warm. It is your son’s heart. You do not know this yet. You are a boy. You are twelve. You are in the dream. The dream is the court. The court is...
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