The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-20 12:12:35 -

The champagne tasted of copper and cold air. It was a sharp, metallic bite that lingered on the tongue, a warning that went unheeded. Margaret stood at the edge of the balcony, her fingers white-knuckled around the glass. Below, the garden was a sea of black tuxedos and shimmering silk, a glittering carpet of wealth that stretched out to the manicured hedges. Above, the sky was a bruised...

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