The Pale Garden
The gaslight in the St. Jude’s Asylum archives flickered with a sickly, yellow pulse, casting long, trembling shadows against the rows of filing cabinets that smelled of mildew and old paper. Elias Thorne sat hunched over his desk, the weight of his debt pressing down on his chest like a physical stone, a constant, grinding reminder of the creditors who had come for his late wife, Margaret,...
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