The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-21 21:34:18 -

The rain was falling in sheets against the window of the train car, blurring the grey landscape into a smear of wet slate and dead hedgerows, and I watched my hands, my own pale fingers trembling slightly as they pressed against the cold glass, remembering the day I left, the day I cut myself loose from the only thing that had ever held my breath in its mouth, the way a fish holds air,...

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