The Wistful Campus
The frost had settled on the roof of the old manor in a layer so thick and white it looked like snow that had been left to melt and refreeze a hundred times, creating a brittle, crystalline armor that shielded the timber beneath from the biting wind that swept across the valley in long, mournful gusts. Maren stood by the window of the attic room, her hand resting on the cold glass, her fingers...
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