The Wistful Campus
You wake with a taste of copper and old dust in your mouth, the kind of flavor that settles deep in the throat after a long silence, and you find yourself sitting on the edge of a bed that is not yours, in a room that feels less like a place of rest and more like a cell in a palace built for ghosts. The walls are high, painted a faded, institutional blue that seems to absorb the light rather...
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