The Wistful Incense
The locket burned against my sternum, a sudden, sharp heat that I could not ignore. I stood in the center of the St. Jude’s Asylum archive, surrounded by the scent of decaying paper and dust, my hands trembling slightly as I held a file for Patient 402. It was the wrong file. I knew it was the wrong file the moment I opened it, yet my fingers had placed it in the slot with the certainty of a...
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