The Distant Promise
The iron bell above the gate at Blackwood Asylum did not ring so much as it groaned, a sound like a man clearing his throat before delivering a death sentence. I stood on the wet cobblestones, the rain soaking through my greatcoat, clutching the brass astrolabe in my left hand. It was cold, heavy, and utterly still. The sky above the institute was a bruise of purple and grey, swollen with the...
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