The Faded Portrait
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the high windows of the St. Jude’s Sanatorium, a relentless, hollow rhythm that seemed to sync with the beating of your own heart. You stood in the center of the ward, your uniform crisp, your boots polished to a mirror sheen. Around you, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and wet wool. The patients lay in rows, pale and...
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