The Distant Garden
The prescription sat on the counter, white and sterile against the dark wood, a small rectangle of authority that I could not seem to read. I had been waiting for the doctor, Dr. Aris Thorne, for three hours. The clinic was not a place of healing, but of containment. The walls were lined with shelves of glass jars, filled not with specimens, but with ingredients. Dried roots, crushed petals,...
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