The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-17 14:03:39 -

The rain does not fall so much as it is pressed against the glass of the high, arched windows, a relentless, gray smear that blurs the line between the wet cobbles of the street below and the damp, stone walls of the corridor where you stand, your fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of a dagger that feels less like a weapon and more like a cold, dead finger in your palm, the leather grip...

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