The Wistful Asylum
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the old city into slick, dark mirrors, and it was in this pervasive dampness that Elias Vane, the city’s last and most weary constable, walked the length of the High Street with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man whose body had begun to forget how to separate itself from the mud of the world. He...
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