The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 22:38:02 -

The Pale Garden

The iron key bit into my palm. It bled. I did not feel the pain. Only the cold. The key was small. It was old. It was mine. I gripped it until the metal turned black under my nails. Around me, the hall stretched. It was vast. It was empty. The dust hung in the air like snow that would never melt. The chandeliers were dead. They were black bones. They hung from the ceiling. They waited. I...

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