The Wistful Asylum
The clock in the hall ticked. It was a heavy sound. Thud. Thud. Thud. Silas stood by the door. He held his hat in his hands. The brim was bent. He had worn it too long. "You’re late," said Dr. Aris. He did not look up. He was polishing a pair of spectacles. The glass was clouded with fog. Or perhaps it was just dirty. "I got lost," Silas said. His voice was low. It scraped against the quiet...
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