Mot was in heaven. From now until graduation, he had a job. A role. He was head of the Dorm RAs. Or would be soon, once they were chosen. In preparation, he was mapping out patrol routes, making up forms and slips. Day dreaming of his soon to be deeds.
The grim reaper hummed happily, picking up some trash he found littering the school grounds.
THIS IS HALLOWEEN
WHERE IT IS ALWAYS HALLOWEEN (and sometimes exams)
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