The Wistful Asylum
The house stood in the gray rain. It was a large house. Old stone. Cold stone. Arthur Vane walked the halls. He held a flashlight. The beam cut the dark. It found dust. It found shadows. It found nothing else. He was here to check the records. The facility had closed. The staff had left. The patients were gone. Or so the file said. The file was thin. Three pages. It said the building was...
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