The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-19 05:58:55 -

The fire began at dawn. It consumed the western wing of the St. Jude’s Institute for the Preservation of Youth. The flames were orange, hungry, and fast. They licked the timber beams with a hiss that sounded like tearing silk. Thomas stood on the balcony. He was twelve years old. His coat was buttoned to the throat. He watched the roof collapse. He did not scream. He did not run. He simply...

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