The Pale Garden
You stand in the center of the rotunda, the air thick with the scent of damp plaster and ancient, crushed petals, your breath visible in the chill as a faint, trembling mist that clings to the stone pillars like the ghost of a previous occupant, and you are here, in this place that has swallowed time whole, to investigate a death that is not a death but a continuation, a loop that tightens with...
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