The Wistful Asylum
The tremor in your left hand is not a spasm, but a slow, rhythmic decay, like the ticking of a clock that has forgotten its purpose. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two years old, a senior inspector at the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and you want to secure your pension by retiring before your heart gives out; the opposing force is the slow, grinding decay of your body, marked by the first tremor...
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