Chapter One: The Key in the Garden

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2026-06-13 16:08:46 -

I woke in the garden because that is where I always wake. It was November, 1888. The air was thick with coal smoke and fog, the kind of London fog that seeps into your bones and turns the world into a watercolor painting left out in the rain. I was sitting on a stone bench beneath the old yew tree—the one that hangs over the eastern wall like a disapproving aunt. My hands were covered in dark...

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