The Distant Garden
The bells did not ring to mark the hour, but to mark the breaking of the world, a discordant shriek that tore through the heavy, leaden air of the abbey’s undercroft, shaking the dust from the vaulted ceiling and settling it upon your shoulders like a fine, grey snow that would never melt, never cease, never offer the comfort of an ending to the long, grey procession of days you had endured...
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