The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 12:12:03 -

The Pale Garden

The mist did not lift; it thickened, turning the air into a viscous, grey wool that wrapped around my throat and squeezed. I had come to the village of Oakhaven not for pilgrimage, but for penance, though the distinction had long since blurred into a single, indistinct stain on my soul. I am a man of letters, or so I was told, but here, in this place where the cobblestones wept with eternal...

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