The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 05:14:33 -

The Pale Garden

The rain did not fall. It hung. A gray veil. Thick. Stiff. It smelled of wet stone. Old iron. I sat in the guardhouse. My back was straight. My hands rested on the pommel of my sword. The leather was cracked. It fit like a second skin. I had worn it for thirty years. The door creaked. Eleanor stood there. She was soaked. Her hair clung to her face. She looked small. Broken. I did not stand....

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