The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-22 15:10:00 -

The dream was always the same. White snow, thick and silent, covering the world in a blanket of absolute zero. In the center stood the stag. Its coat was not white but the color of old bone, matted with blood that froze into dark crusts along its ribs. It did not run. It did not fight. It simply stood, breathing clouds of steam into the still air, its antlers broken and jagged like shattered...

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