The Wistful Campus
The dream is static. You see Clara standing in the hallway of the old faculty club, wearing the ivory silk of her wedding gown. It is not a memory of joy; it is a visual loop, a glitch in the neural circuitry of your grief. The fabric catches the light, stiff and architectural, holding its shape without a body to support it. You reach for the hem, but your hand stops halfway, trembling in the...
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