The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-17 10:51:17 -

The gate did not creak. It did not groan under the weight of the iron portcullis, nor did it sigh in the wind. It simply opened, a slow, silent exhalation of stone into the grey morning. Edward Ashworth stood before the threshold, his hand resting on the cold iron of his sword hilt. The metal was warm from his grip, a small, defiant heat against the pervasive chill of the courtyard. Behind him,...

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