The Wistful Mountain
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a persistent, grey mist that soaked into the wool of the staff uniforms and settled deep into the bones of the men and women who worked within the stone walls of St. Jude’s Asylum for the Acute and the Forgotten. It was a place built in the late nineteenth century but which felt, in the damp and the silence, as old as the bedrock itself, a...
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