The Wistful Voyage
The iron bars of the cell did not shake, nor did the stone walls weep with the dampness that seeped from the earth below, yet to Sir Aldous Thorne, the silence was a living thing that pressed against his eardrums with a weight more crushing than the chain around his ankle. He sat upon the cold flagstones, his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands resting in his lap, fingers interlaced in a...
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