The Pale Garden

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-18 02:12:50 -

The Pale Garden

The iron gate shrieked as I forced it open. My hands bled on the cold iron. I did not care. Blood is only water and rust. It is not precious. I am not precious. I am a tool. I am a key. I must turn. I must enter. The courtyard was white with snow. The snow was dirty. It smelled of rot and old ash. I stepped over the threshold. The air was thin. It tasted of copper. I walked toward the tower....

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