The Distant Garden
The dress was made of a fabric so thin it seemed woven from the morning fog itself, a pale blue that matched the bruised sky over the manor. It hung on the iron rack in the master’s study, waiting. Elara stood before it, her hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer weight of the silence that had settled over the estate. She had served Lord Ashworth for twenty years, tending to his...
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