The Distant Garden
The garden was not a garden. It was a wound in the earth. I saw it from the ridge. A patch of glass. Shattered emerald shards. They glittered in the pale winter sun. My boots crunched on the frost. The air tasted of iron and old blood. I am a man of the law. I carry a badge that is heavy. It pulls at my belt. It drags me down into the dirt. My name is Elias. I do not remember my middle name. It...
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