The Wistful Asylum
The first bell of the morning watch did not ring so much as it cracked, a sound like a bone snapping under the weight of the world, echoing through the stone corridors of the Citadel of St. Jude. You lay in the straw, the dampness of the dungeon floor seeping through the thin wool of your tunic, and for a moment you believed the silence that followed was your own. But it was not. It was the...
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