The Wistful Campus
The ink in the well is black, but it moves like oil, swirling in a direction that has no source of current. You are Elias, a squire of the Royal Scriptorium, and your hands are stained to the wrist with the pigment of the *Codex Aeterna*, a book that is not merely written but grown from the parchment itself. You have been here for three nights, your back aching from the cold stone floor, driven...
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