The Distant Legend
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell on the iron roofs of the Millbrook Asylum like a slow, gray burial shroud, drowning the world in a persistent, rhythmic drumming that echoed in the hollows of Thomas Ashworth’s bones. He stood at the window of the administrative office, his hands clasped behind his back, the leather of his gloves creaking softly with the movement. The glass was...
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