The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-18 08:50:52 -

The air in the Great Hall tastes of stale beer and wet wool. It is a thick, cloying fog that settles in the throat. You are the only one awake. The others sleep in their heavy coats, slumped over mahogany tables, their breath rising in white plumes. You stand by the window. The glass is cold against your forehead. Outside, the city of Ashworth burns with the yellow light of gas lamps and the...

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