The Wistful Asylum
The dream always ended with the water rising, not with the flood, but with the silence of it, a grey and heavy stillness that pressed against Elias Thorne’s lungs until he woke gasping in the cold stone of his cell. He was thirty-two years old, a scholar of minor renown at the university, and for the last three years he had been haunted by the legend of the Asylum, a submerged city that...
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