The Wistful Asylum
The iron gate of St. Jude’s Hospital for the Insane did not creak, nor did it groan under the weight of the autumn wind that swept across the desolate moor; it simply held, a silent, immovable judgment against the sky. Colonel Thomas Ashworth stood before it, his hand resting lightly on the cold metal of his pistol, a gesture that was less about readiness and more about the need to feel the...
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