The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 00:37:11 -

The gate was locked. It had been locked for ten years. Margaret stood on the porch, her fingers white against the wood. The air smelled of wet iron and old leaves. She was old. Her bones clicked when she moved. They were brittle things, like dry twigs waiting for a wind that hadn’t come yet. Behind her, the house breathed. It was a big house. Too big. The shadows in the corners were deep and...

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