The Distant Affair
The iron gates of Blackwood Asylum were not merely closed; they were welded shut by the weight of a century of silence. Inside, the air hung heavy, thick with the scent of damp wool, old paper, and the metallic tang of fear. Thomas Ashworth stood in the center of the ward, his uniform a patchwork of faded blue and dust. He was not a man who belonged there. He was a guard, a warden, a keeper of...
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