The Distant Garden
The garden was not a place of growth, but of erosion. It lay behind the iron gates of the Ministry of Agricultural Stability, a square patch of earth where the soil had been stripped to clay and the fences rusted into a brittle, orange lace. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling the familiar ache in his left lung. It was a dull, persistent throb, a clock...
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