The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 05:19:02 -

The ink in the well was freezing, a black, viscous sludge that refused to flow, and I stood before the mirror in the hallway, watching my own hands reach for the glass a full second before my reflection moved. It was a delay, precise and mechanical, like a clockwork mechanism winding down, and I knew then that the house was no longer merely a structure of stone and timber but a living thing...

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