The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-18 21:05:30 -

The fire started in the straw. It was not a grand blaze. No, it was a small, hungry thing. A whisper of orange that grew into a roar. The barn was gone by noon. The horses were gone by the time the smoke cleared. Thomas stood in the mud. He watched the blackened beams sway. They snapped and fell. He did not cry. He was a soldier. Soldiers do not cry for lost property. They do not cry for lost...

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