The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 12:16:38 -

The Pale Garden

The rain hit the slate roof of the chapel like a thousand tiny hammers. It was a rhythmic, ceaseless percussion that drowned out the wind outside. Inside, the air smelled of wet wool, old stone, and the sharp, metallic tang of the ink Elara used for her ledgers. She sat at the heavy oak desk, her hands trembling slightly as she aligned the quill. The candle flickered, casting long, dancing...

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