The Pale Garden
The iron gate at the bottom of the hill is not locked, you know, it never was, and that is the first thing they will tell you when they come to take you away, how careless you were, how you left the door open to the wind and the mist and the things that live in the space between the raindrops. You are standing in the courtyard of the old asylum, the one that used to be a school for the blind...
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