The Wistful Ashes
The rain does not fall here; it rises. You have known this since the moment your boots touched the grey, porous surface of the Aetheric Plain, a landscape that exists in the negative space between the sleeping minds of the scholars in the University of St. Jude’s. You are not a student here. You are a ghost of a man, a construct of pure academic anxiety rendered in flesh and bone by the...
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