The Wistful Asylum
You say it is the hands, don’t you, Margaret? You say that the hands are what remain when the mind dissolves into the ether of our shared delusion, and I nod, because I have no other response to offer to the woman who once held the entirety of the world in her fragile, trembling grip, now that the world has been stripped of its flesh and left only with the bone, for I am here, in this room that...
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