The Distant Promise
The nightmare was always the same: the walls of the Blackwood Asylum breathing, the plaster flaking off in dry, chalky sheets that smelled of wet earth and old copper. Elias Thorne woke with a gasp, his hand already reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was forty years old, a man who had spent two decades enforcing the rigid...
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