The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 11:14:07 -

The Pale Garden

The banquet hall of the Varnishworks was a cavernous thing, its ceiling lost in a perpetual haze of coal smoke and the heavy, sweet scent of industrial turpentine that clung to the wool of every guest’s coat. In the center of the room, beneath a chandelier that dripped with unpolished brass, stood Elias Thorne, his hands trembling not from the cold that seeped through the floorboards but from...

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