The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 05:49:34 -

The rain against the windowpane sounded like a slow, rhythmic tapping, a knuckle rapping on the door of a house that had forgotten to lock it. I stood by the fire, watching the embers die, feeling the heat of the room seep into my bones, a warmth that felt stolen, illicit. My father sat in the wingback chair, his face turned away from me, his hands resting on his knees with the heavy,...

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