The Wistful Voyage
The rain had not stopped since Tuesday, a grey curtain that turned the windows of the state facility into blurred mirrors of my own exhaustion. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, an archivist by trade and a caretaker by necessity, and I am writing this because my hands are shaking too much to hold a pen steady. The new wing, the "Sanctuary," is supposed to be a miracle of modern...
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