The Wistful Asylum
The rain lashed against the high, narrow windows of the St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center, blurring the gray city beyond into a smear of charcoal and slate, while inside, the air hung thick with the scent of wet wool and floor wax. "You have it on again," said Elias, his voice low and rough, scraping against the silence of the staff break room like a stone dragged across concrete. Margaret did...
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