page_0: "There is an asylum run by the Hammerites, though when it was founded or by whom exactly, the accounts differ. Some say an old priest established it for the care of fractured minds, though whether he remains there or departed long ago remains unknown. Others claim the institution was funded and erected by an affluent duke of foreign origin.

Regardless, the place exists in a kind of suspension, neither abandoned nor truly alive. The pale light falls through windows at wrong angles that belong to no season, as if the building has settled into a time between the end of winter and the arrival of spring.

The brothers presumably continue their work. One tends to the patients, another works at the forge, filling for someone who left or perhaps was never there at all. Yet another tolls the bell every noon-tide. Their routines have become like cogs in a machine that never stopped "
page_1: "turning, though whatever purpose it once served has long since faded from memory. They maintain an order that no longer requires maintenance, performing tasks for an institution that may no longer need to exist.

The asylum was built to restore order to sick minds, yet right now it dwells in a space between. It is oddly neither ordered nor chaotic. As if the building absorbed the madness it was meant to cure and found a way to organise it, creating a third state where reason and unreason exist together without contradiction."
