The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 12:14:17 -

You wake not with a start, but with a slow, viscous unspooling, as if the fabric of your skin is being gently peeled away from the bone by a hand that has forgotten how to be gentle. You are lying in the bed of the Infirmary, a place of white linen and the smell of boiled herbs that taste, in your dreams, of old pennies and rust. You are not human. You have never been human, not truly, though...

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