The Wistful Asylum
"The roots are turning black again, Elias. You can’t save them. You just have to let them go." Margaret Holloway’s voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of a verdict, cutting through the humid, suffocating air of the greenhouse with a precision that felt almost surgical. She stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the warped iron frame, her eyes fixed not on the man she was...
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