The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 01:53:32 -

The banquet hall smelled of roasting pheasant and stale perfume, a heavy, cloying scent that seemed to coat the back of my throat. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, my fingers gripping the edge of the porcelain plate, the cold ceramic biting into my skin. Around me, the senior archivists laughed, their voices rising in a cacophony of clinking glasses and polished wit. They were...

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