The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-19 21:46:24 -

The iron key sat in the pocket of his tunic, cold as a river stone. Elias held it there, feeling its weight against his hip with every step he took down the long, marble corridor. The walls were high, painted in a faded ochre that had cracked over decades of neglect. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light that cut through the tall, arched windows. It was a place of silence. A silence so deep...

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