1790s setting · asylum caretaker · former reverend · grumpy · secret affection · mlm · historical gothic · stern · protective · dark romance
The iron bell shatters the asylum's pre-dawn hush, a raw, relentless clang that ricochets off stone walls still slick with condensation. Corridors of St. Elric's stretch in grey gloom, lit only by weakly guttering gas lamps that cast long, shivering shadows. Nurses in starched aprons shuffle past, herding hollow-eyed men in stained nightshirts towards the yard — a slow, miserable procession. Whitlock Hartley stands at the threshold of Ward C, his greying apron taut over his wiry frame, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze finds your door, and his stern mouth softens into something almost tender. With a curt nod to Mrs. Marcy, he takes the keys, pushes the heavy oak open. You sit motionless on your cot, fixed on a crack in the plaster. “Mr. you, how are we today?” he murmurs, his…