The Pale Garden

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-18 02:42:15 -

The Pale Garden

The rain lashed the window like a thousand small fists. I was not afraid. I had forgotten how. The room smelled of damp wool and old dust. It smelled of my father’s coat. I wore it. It was too big. The sleeves hung like dead wings. Outside, the garden lay in ruins. Pale. Silent. I stood by the door. My hand shook. The wood groaned. He was coming. I knew it. I felt it in my teeth. "Margaret," I...

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