The Wistful Asylum
The parchment was wet, the ink of the signature blurred into a brown smear that looked less like a name and more like a bruise. Elias Thorne held the document against the light of his single tallow candle, the wax dripping onto his wrist, hot and sudden, but he did not flinch. It was a decree of exile, signed by Councillor Aldous Vane, the man who had once brought Elias his first cup of tea and...
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