The Wistful Campus

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2026-08-20 18:15:27 -

The hand of the clock in the hallway had stopped at three-fourteen. It had been stopped for a hundred years, yet the dust on its face seemed to swirl with a frantic, living energy that the rest of the stone corridor could not match. I walked past it, my boots striking the cold flagstones with a rhythm that felt less like walking and more like a countdown. The air in the corridor smelled of damp...

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