The Wistful Campus
The bell of the Ironspire did not ring. It screamed. I was standing in the courtyard, my hands still stained with the black grease of the clockwork I had been repairing for the Duke’s newfangled timepiece. The sound tore through the midday air, a jagged shriek that stopped the hearts of the pigeons mid-flight. They fell, silent as stones, into the dust. I did not look up. I knew what the scream...
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