The Wistful Voyage
The letter from the Magistrate arrived on a Tuesday, the paper thick and yellowed like the skin of an old man, sealed with wax that had cracked under the weight of its own age, and it told you that the Council of Wardens had finally decided to audit the archives of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Gifted, a decision that had been pending for thirty years but which now, in the face of your...
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