The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 11:20:24 -

The Pale Garden

The door clicked shut behind them. A soft, final sound. Margaret stood in the hallway, holding the box. It was small. Made of pine. Old. Inside, a single white orchid. Wilted. Brown at the edges. She had kept it for three days. The stems were dry. Brittle. She broke one. It snapped with a tiny, dry crack. Like a bone. Like a twig. "Are you coming?" Thomas asked from the stairs. His voice was...

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