The Wistful Letter
12 November 1842 The stone walls of the infirmary at Blackgate Prison wept with condensation, a cold, mineral sweat that seeped into the wool of my tunic and settled in the marrow of my bones, a physical weight that mirrored the formal reprimand pinned to my chest by the Warden’s secretary. I am Captain Elias Thorne, a man who has spent twenty years mapping the precise geometry of obedience,...
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