The Blackwood Ascendant

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2026-06-09 15:01:16 -

Act I: The Gate The iron gate closed behind me with a sound like a coffin lid shutting. Three years in Bedlam, and the first thing I noticed was the smell—coal smoke and Thames mud and something sweeter underneath, like rotting flowers. London had not changed. It was I who had been unmade. The fog clung to my coat like a beggar's plea. I stood on the bank at Wapping, watching the barges slide...

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