The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 04:37:53 -

The Pale Garden

The road was long. It was wet. The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in thin, cold sheets against the window of the carriage. Elias looked at his hands. They were small. They were pale. They did not match the dark wool of his coat. He was nine. He felt old. He felt young. He felt nothing at all. The carriage swayed. It creaked. It groaned under the weight of the mud. They were going...

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