The Pale Garden
The iron gates of the Blackwood Estate shuddered in a wind that had no source, tearing open the night sky like a wound that refused to close. You stood before them, your uniform crisp and white, a stark, clinical contrast to the bruised purple of the twilight gathering behind the crumbling manor. The air tasted of ozone and old copper, a metallic tang that coated the back of your throat and...
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