The Wistful Cipher
The plaster flaked away under my fingernail, a dry, chalky sound that seemed to vanish before it reached the ear, leaving only the visual ghost of the mark I had made. I am Arthur Vane, Junior Archivist, and I have spent the last three weeks cataloguing the decay of this institution, specifically the way the walls of Blackwood Asylum consume the light and the noise of the living. It is a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews