The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 11:37:26 -

The banquet hall of St. Jude’s Asylum smelled of roasted pheasant and stale varnish, a cloying mixture that clung to the back of my throat as I watched the senior staff toast the memory of Director Halloway, whose death had finally opened the path to my pension. I sat in the shadows of the gallery, forty-two years old and stiff in the joints, nursing a glass of sherry that did little to warm...

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