The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 11:48:41 -

The rain tasted of iron. It slicked the cobblestones of Whitechapel until they shimmered like wet scales. I walked fast. My boots made no sound. The city breathed steam from the grates. It choked the air. I carried a box. It was small. Wood. Bound in iron. Inside lay the heart of the thing. My name is Silas Vane. I was a man of numbers. I dealt in thread and cloth. I measured life in yards. But...

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