The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-20 09:07:53 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain that blurred the edge of the world. Thomas stood at the gate of the estate, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not tasted blood in twenty years. He was leaving. Or rather, he was being unmade. The command had come from the High Chamber, sealed in wax that smelled of iron and rot. He was to walk the perimeter one last time,...

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