The Wistful Asylum
The iron gate groaned against its ancient stone frame, a sound like a dying man’s last breath, as Aldous Vane drove the final stake into the earth of the royal garden. It was not a garden of roses, nor of lilies, but of silence, a place where the King’s will had carved a void in the landscape, a circular enclosure of black iron and white marble where no bird dared sing and no leaf fell without...
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