The Wistful Asylum
The empty chair at the head of the table is the first thing you see. It is oak, polished to a dull, dead shine, and it sits in the morning light like a missing tooth in a jaw. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, Warden of Oakhaven’s Old Prison, and you have served there for nineteen years. You want the permanent tenure by the winter solstice, a title that will secure your name in the city’s...
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