The Wistful Asylum
The gaslight in the basement of the Blackwood Asylum did not illuminate so much as it interrogated, casting long, wavering shadows that stretched across the damp flagstones like the fingers of the dead. Thomas Vane, thirty-four years old and hollowed out by twelve years of service, stood before the iron-wrought cage where Patient Zero lay, a figure who was, to the naked eye, an exact mirror of...
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