The Wistful Campus
The first thing you notice is the smell of wet stone and old iron. It sits in the back of your throat, a metallic taste that tastes like blood but isn’t. You are standing in the courtyard of the keep, the air thick with the weight of centuries, and you are trying to remember why you came. You tell yourself it is for the scholarship. You tell yourself it is for the future. But the truth is...
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