The Wistful Throne
The iron gate of Blackwood Penitentiary had not been painted in forty years, its surface a rusted mirror that reflected the grey, indifferent sky of the industrial valley above. Thomas Ashworth, the Head Warden, stood before it, his hands resting on the cold metal, feeling the vibrations of the machinery within. He was a man carved from the same harsh material as the walls he guarded, his face...
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