The Wistful Asylum
Hands moving fast, Eoin Dunne pressed the quill into the wet ink, the nib scratching against the parchment of the Wistful Asylum ledger, his breath fogging in the sudden chill that had settled over the archive room despite the warm November air pressing against the high windows. The entry for the year 1894 was already wrong; the name of the patient, a boy named Pádraig, had shifted from the...
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