The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-19 20:52:18 -

The air in the Ministry of Personnel smelled of floor wax and old paper, a sterile perfume that clung to the lining of your clothes and the back of your throat. You sat in the leather chair, the one with the cracked stitching on the left armrest, and you watched your own hands resting on the desk. They were steady. They were always steady. You had trained them to be steady, for twenty years,...

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