The Wistful Campus
The ink on the page was not ink at all, but a living thing, a viscous, iridescent fluid that pulsed with a faint, bioluminescent heartbeat, spreading across the heavy cream-colored paper in slow, deliberate tendrils that resembled the branching veins of a leaf or the capillaries of a dying brain. I held the document in my hands, my fingers trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, crushing...
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