The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 19:53:24 -

The banquet hall of the Ironworks sat heavy with the scent of roasted pheasant and coal smoke, a thick, cloying atmosphere that seemed to press against the inside of my skull. I sat at the long table, my hands folded beneath the linen cloth, feeling the rough texture of the fabric against my palms like a second skin. Around me, the men of the mill laughed, their voices booming off the riveted...

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