The Wistful Asylum
The hall was full. Candlelight bled into the shadows. The air was thick with wine and sweat. Margaret stood at the center. She wore white. It was a wedding dress. Or so they said. Her hands were bound. Ropes cut into her wrists. The pain was sharp. It was real. She did not blink. Her eyes were wide. They were dark. They held nothing. Or everything. It was hard to tell. The crowd cheered. They...
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