The Pale Garden
The heavy wool of the ceremonial sash felt less like fabric and more like a second skin that had grown over the years, tightening with every passing season. For thirty years, Elias Thorne had worn it, a strip of crimson wool bordered in gold braid, the symbol of the Watchkeeper in the town of Oakhaven. It was a garment of authority, yes, but also of burden, its weight anchoring him to the...
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