The Faded Quadrant
The rain on the iron roof was a drumroll that had no end. You stood at the gate of the sanatorium, your coat soaked through to the skin, the fabric heavy with the weight of a life you were no longer sure you wanted to carry. Behind you, the city of Ashworth sprawled in a haze of coal smoke and fog, its factories belching black breath into the gray sky. Ahead, through the glass doors of the...
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