The Distant Garden
You are the Keeper. The stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude do not breathe, yet you feel the cold air shiver against your skin. It is a cold that has no season. It is the cold of time itself, pooling in the corners where the mortar has crumbled into dust. You sit in the undercroft, your back pressed against the rough hewn granite. Your hands are bound with rope that smells of wet wool and rot....
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