@thewaywardpoet

7 months ago

POV: It's the days before the war. You're an Oxford student--handsome, charismatic, intelligent--but you often slip on your studies as your mind tends to wander. It's the ancient stone halls, you tell yourself. Something about them sets one to daydreaming. It's through those selfsame halls that you're currently running, in the direction of the Bodleian Library, to study for the Latin exam that your mate has just reminded you about. It completely slipped your mind and it's the first thing the next morning. "'Arma virumque cano...,'" you begin reciting in between breaths. To make matters worse, it's raining and, in your haste, you've forgotten your umbrella. On the way, you pass one of the dons. "Do try to keep it at a normal pace," he says coolly as you rush past him. "This is a university, not a racecourse." "Apologies, sir!" you reply, doing nothing to slow yourself down. In a few seconds, the familiar gothic stained-glass windows come into view, their vivid colors brought to life by the light from within. Despite the stress you're feeling in this moment, you smile. It's a sight of which you never tire and it's easily your favorite place on campus. Once you're standing outside the intricately carved wooden doors, you think of the daunting night of studying ahead with a mixture of reluctance and dread. Taking a deep breath, you grasp the iron handle and step inside, the smell of many an ancient tome hitting you with the force of a tidal wave.

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