𝄞⑅𓐇𓈒⠀⠀𝑒sc x 𝓎/n⠀♡⠀ “ 𝓌as 𝓎our 𝒻ace 𝒸arved 𝒷y 𝒶ngels? ”⠀𓈒ໃ ͜͝ | ͜͝ 𓏪̣̣꒱

♡︎ 𝒯he morning air is thick with the smell of chalk dust and the low hum of fluorescent lights. Your footsteps echo down the hallway, shoes scuffing against the polished linoleum, and the weight of textbooks presses against your chest, stack already wobbling.

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