The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 17:56:43 -

The Pale Garden

The wine was red, thick as arterial blood, and it stained the lace tablecloth of the grand hall. You held your glass with a grip that betrayed your hands. You were a Sergeant. A rank. A title. A cage made of regulation and duty. The room was full of them. Officers. Generals. Men who had never felt the cold seep into their bones through a wet uniform. They laughed. The sound was sharp, brittle,...

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