The Distant Joke

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2026-08-22 01:33:59 -

The Distant Joke

The soup was cold. It had been sitting in the pot since the morning shift, a thick, grey sludge of turnips and bone broth that the cooks in the canteen of the Millhaven Asylum for the Insane had deemed "safe." I stirred it with a wooden spoon, the wood dark and slick with grease, watching the steam curl up and disappear into the low, beamed ceiling. There was no one to serve. The patients were...

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