The Golden Mirror
The air in the Grand Hall of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Incurably Insane smelled of roasted mutton and stale lavender. It was a feast for the board members, a spectacle of civic duty disguised as charity, held in the industrial heart of the city where the steam pipes groaned like dying beasts beneath the marble floors. I sat at the long table, my hands folded neatly on the white linen,...
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