The Wistful Asylum
The steam hissed. It smelled of iron and old blood. "Look at it, Elias," said the Director. He pointed a manicured finger at the glass. "Beautiful, isn't it? The architecture of the mind." I looked. I saw the machine. It was a lattice of brass and copper wire, suspended in a vacuum chamber. It hummed. A low, vibrating note that settled in the teeth. "It’s a cage," I said. My voice was flat. I...
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