The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 19:18:03 -

The Pale Garden

The feast was not held in a hall but in the hollow of your own ribs, a cacophony of hunger that tasted of copper and old dust, where you stood trembling before the mirror of the dark water that had no bottom and no shore, watching your reflection warp and stretch into something that did not quite belong to the shape of a man, or perhaps a woman, or a thing that had never been born at all, and...

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