The Wistful Asylum
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the grey, industrial belly of the city, a thick, sulfurous mist that clung to the cobblestones and seeped into the marrow of your bones. You stood at the edge of the precipice, not of a cliff, but of the crowded, screaming marketplace below, where the air hung heavy with the scent of roasted chestnuts, coal smoke, and the metallic tang of fear....
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