The Wistful Asylum
The rain did not fall. It hung. A grey curtain, woven of static and sorrow, trapped the town of Oakhaven in a perpetual, suffocating dusk. Elias Thorne stood at the window of his cramped office, watching the droplets vibrate in place, defying gravity, defying time. He was a clerk. A keeper of records. His job was to file the names of those who had passed into the grey. He held the ledger. He...
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