The Distant Promise
The iron gate of the Blackwood Asylum did not creak so much as it groaned, a deep, resonant thrum that traveled up the cobblestones and into the bones of those who walked beneath its arch, a sound that seemed to predate the very stone itself, vibrating with a low-frequency sorrow that no amount of oil or maintenance could ever fully silence. Thomas Bradshaw stood before it, his hand resting on...
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