The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 00:42:23 -

The Pale Garden

I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth, the metallic tang of a coin held too long against the tongue. The dream had been simple, a recurring geometry of glass and root. I was standing in a garden that was not a garden, but a vast, vaulted atrium where the walls were made of clear, cold stone. In the center grew a single tree, its bark white as bone, its leaves thin as paper. Every time I...

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