The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-19 14:59:48 -

The bell rang. It was a sharp, metallic scream that tore through the fog. Margaret stood in the mud. Her boots sank. She pulled them out. She walked. The town of Oakhaven was not a town. It was a wound. The cobblestones were slick with rain and old blood. The windows glowed yellow. It was the hour of the witch. Or perhaps the hour of the judge. Margaret did not know. She only knew she was...

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