The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-19 17:11:44 -

The stone bites your hand. You bleed. The blood is red, thick, and hot against the cold gray rock. You pull back. The wall does not care. You are in the corridor. It is dark. The air smells of damp moss and old iron. You run. Your boots slap the flagstones. *Thud. Thud. Thud.* Your breath is a ragged tear in the silence. You do not know how long you have been here. Time is a broken clock. It...

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