The Wistful Asylum
The rain hammered against the shingle roof of the community center, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that sounded like a heart beating too fast. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the gymnasium, his shoes soaked through the thin carpet, and watched the water stain spread across the floor. It was a dark, iridescent pool, eating into the wood grain, a slow and inevitable consumption. He had come...
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