The Wistful Campus

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2026-08-20 10:01:21 -

The hall smelled of wet wool and old brass. It was a scent that clung to the skin, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums. Margaret stood at the center of the atrium, her hand resting on the cold iron railing. The grand staircase curved upward like a frozen wave. It was beautiful. It was also dying. She had been here for three days. The university called it a sabbatical. It was a...

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