The Wistful Asylum
The air in the grand ballroom of St. Jude’s Home for the Aged did not smell of decay, as one might expect, but of lavender and old varnish, a scent so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing against the back of the neck. I stood near the buffet, holding a glass of champagne that had gone flat an hour ago, watching the staff move with a choreographed grace that seemed to defy the crumbling...
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