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Patients.
Waling through the decrepit corridors of the eldritch hospital, one notes a smell, like that of an overripe plum or pear, a sickeningly sweet sugar filling your nostrils. The sound of something dry, maybe old records and manuscripts, being burned, crackling like brittle old bones breaking, jars your ears. Goosebumps, chills, trickling from your spine to your fingers. You quickly rub your arms, but all you feel is smooth cold skin. Chilled, you glance down, but all is fine. A cold sweat drips down your forehead, as you turn into a doorway. A bead of sweat rolls off your nose, landing on your lip. You taste it for a second, bitter like a swig of vinegar. The taste leaves you with a clenched sour face. As your eyes reach the back of the room you see something, just out of the corner of your eye. A crooked smile, blank staring eyes, piercing into your soul, and a blue hued corpse carries them. You jerk away, and notice the frame of a mirror. You scream in primal horror as you realize you are seeing your reflection. Not a sound escapes your grinning mouth.
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