The Wistful Asylum
The ballroom of the Ashworth Estate did not merely hold the air; it swallowed it. It was a cavern of polished mahogany and heavy velvet, a throat of wood and fabric that gurgled with the sounds of the nineteenth century. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen stars, shedding a light that was less illumination and more a kind of pale, surgical glare. In the center of this vast, resonant space, the...
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