The Pale Shadows
The count of the gas meters was a ritual Elias Thorne performed with the grim precision of a man counting his own remaining breaths, clicking the brass dials in the east wing where the air tasted of copper and old dust. He had worked the night shift at Blackwood Asylum for twelve years, a tenure that had worn the varnish off his patience and the color from his hair, all for the singular,...
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