The Pale Protocol
14th October, 1912 You must forgive the haste of this writing, for the ink is still wet and my hands tremble with a violence that I cannot fully suppress, but I find that if I do not commit these thoughts to paper immediately, I fear they will dissolve into the same pale, shifting mist that haunts the corridors of St. Jude’s Asylum. I am Elias Thorne, an archivist of modest renown and...
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