The Wistful Campus

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2026-08-20 15:20:35 -

The air in the Hall of Whispers was thick with the scent of damp stone and old paper, a perfume of decay that clung to the back of the throat. I stood before the high, arched window, watching the rain streak the glass, blurring the world outside into a watercolor smear of gray and green. It was the kind of morning that felt less like time passing and more like time pooling, stagnant and heavy....

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