The Distant Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil drawn tight against the window of my cell. I sat on the cold stone floor, my back against the damp wall, and watched the water bead and slide. I was not a man. I had never been a man, not truly. I was something else, something older, shaped by the weight of years and the silence of the deep woods. But here, in the stone prison of Lord...
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