The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-19 00:46:52 -

The banquet hall smelled of stale beer and wet wool. It was a grand affair, or so the flyers claimed, pinned to every telegraph pole in the valley. A celebration of the new railway line. The air was thick with smoke and the low, rumbling hum of three hundred men eating roast beef. Tom sat in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was twelve, or maybe thirteen. He didn’t keep count. He...

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