The Faded Paradox
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Incurable was a place where the air tasted of stale yeast and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies that had long since wilted on the altar, yet the room was filled with a vibrant, almost aggressive vitality that seemed to pulse from the very stones. You sat at the long oak table, your fingers wrapped tightly around a silver fork, the metal cold...
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