The Wistful Campus
The first syllable of the name was a hard stop, a stone dropped into still water. "Margaret," said the old man, his voice a dry rustle of dead leaves in the wind. "You stand there as if the air itself is a debt you have failed to repay. Speak. Or leave. The choice is yours, but the silence is no longer." Margaret Holloway did not move. She stood on the threshold of the great hall, a place that...
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