The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-21 14:21:18 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a thick, gray curtain that blurred the edge of the world. Thomas Ashworth stood on the wet flagstones of the courtyard, his boots sinking slightly into the mud that had been trampled into a paste by centuries of feet. He watched the gate close behind him. It was a heavy thing, iron-banded oak, groaning on its hinges with the weight of its own...

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