The Pale Fracture
The rain did not fall in Harrowgate; it accumulated. It gathered in the gutters of the black ironwork, in the hollows of the cobblestones, and in the deep, weeping crevices of the great glass dome that encased our university. I stood before the central atrium, my hands trembling not from the chill that seeped through my wool coat, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence. The air here...
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