The Wistful Asylum
The fluorescent lights of St. Jude’s Psychiatric Institute hummed with a low, persistent frequency that seemed to vibrate directly in the marrow of Elena Vane’s bones, a sterile drone that underscored the sharp, clipped syllables of her protest as she stood before the glass partition of the observation room, her hand gripping the cold metal of the chair until her knuckles turned the color of...
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