The Wistful Petal
The bell has not rung for forty years, yet it vibrates in the marrow of your bones, a low, tectonic hum that you mistake for your own heartbeat. You are inside the Great Hall of the University of St. Jude, a place of stone so ancient it remembers the taste of iron and the weight of snow before the current administration decided to retrofit the gothic arches with fluorescent lighting. The air is...
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