The Echoes of Bedlam
The corridors of the Saint Jude’s Asylum for the Incurable did not just hold patients; they held the remnants of lives meticulously disassembled. Julian Blackwood sat in the center of his cell, the moonlight filtering through the iron bars in cold, skeletal fingers. He had once been a man of influence, a name that commanded silence in the halls of Parliament. Now, he was merely Patient 402, a...
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