The Wistful Asylum
Elias Vane woke with the taste of iron and old rain on his tongue, the memory of a dream so vivid it felt less like a sleep-visit and more like a wound that had just begun to close. In the dream, he had been standing in the courtyard of his ancestral home, a sprawling Georgian estate on the edge of the moors, and he had seen the seal. It was not the family crest of the Vane line, which featured...
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