The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-18 11:10:07 -

The iron gate groaned, a sound like a dying beast, as I pushed through into the courtyard of the Blackwood Sanatorium. I was not here for healing. I was here for the garden, specifically the wisteria that climbed the eastern wall, thick and purple as bruised flesh. The air smelled of damp rot and crushed thyme, a scent that had become indistinguishable from my own skin over the last three...

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