The Wistful Campus
The train hissed into the station of Oakhaven, a low, mournful groan that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of your bones, carrying with it the scent of coal dust and the damp, heavy air of a November evening that refused to break. You stepped off the carriage, your boots squelching in the mud that had turned the platform into a treacherous swamp, and looked up at the looming silhouette of St....
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