The Distant Garden

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2026-08-18 15:13:23 -

The rain in Oakhaven did not fall; it hovered, a grey, suspended mist that settled into the pores of the skin and the crevices of the cobblestones, turning the town into a damp, breathing entity. I stood at the window of the Municipal Archive, watching the water bead on the glass, my reflection a ghostly smear of ink and exhaustion behind the pane. The air smelled of wet wool and old paper, a...

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