The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-21 18:22:07 -

The Wistful Ashes

The iron gate did not clang; it screamed, a high, thin shriek of metal on stone that cut through the damp fog like a blade through silk. I was running, my lungs burning with the taste of rust and old blood, my fingers raw from the cold iron bars I had scaled to reach this precipice. Below me, the courtyard of St. Jude’s Institute for the Correction of Deviant Thought was a churning sea of black...

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