The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-22 02:43:22 -

The rain hammers the slate. You are bleeding. The red mixes with the grey. It tastes of copper. Old copper. You pull the sword from the gut of the wolf. It was not a wolf. It was a shape. A shadow with teeth. You are in the market square. The stones are slick. You are alone. You are always alone. Your hand shakes. The sword is heavy. You drop it. It clatters against the cobbles. A sound like a...

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