The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 13:08:53 -

The Pale Garden

The brass keys hung on the hook by the door like the bones of a small, dead bird, and I turned them over and over in my palm until the metal bit into the whorls of my fingerprints, a sharp, familiar pain that grounded me in the reality of the shop. The air inside the restoration studio was thick with the smell of varnish and dried lilies, a cloying scent that clung to the back of the throat and...

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