The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 03:03:50 -

The Pale Garden

The ink was black, viscous, and smelled of iron, a scent that clung to the wool of my tunic long after I had washed my hands in the cold, gray water of the servant’s basin. I stood before the great oak desk in the private study of Lord Aldous, the air thick with the smoke of burning coal and the heavy, perfumed silence of a house that had buried too many secrets. My name was Elias Thorne, and...

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