The Faded Bouquet
The air in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Incurable was not merely cold; it was a physical substance, a dense, gelatinous weight that pressed against the lungs and tasted of rusted iron and wet limestone. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood alone in the center of the corridor, his boots squelching softly in a puddle that had been spreading for three days, though no one had reported...
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