The Wistful Campus
The stone beneath your fingers is cold, a deep, arterial chill that seeps through the wool of your sleeve and settles into the marrow of your bones, a sensation so profound it feels less like temperature and more like a memory of the earth itself trying to reclaim what has been stolen from it. You are standing in the cloister of St. Aldhelm’s, a place that has not changed in four centuries...
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