The Distant Garden

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2026-08-17 22:29:15 -

The mud is black. It clings to your boots, to your trousers, to the inside of your soul. You are digging. The shovel bites into the earth with a wet, sucking sound, a rhythmic thud that echoes in the hollow of your chest. The rain falls in a fine, persistent mist, blurring the line between the sky and the ground. You are not here to plant. You are here to retrieve. You know what is buried. You...

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