The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 05:24:43 -

The Pale Garden

The bell tolled. It was not a sound. It was a physical blow, a heavy, iron fist striking the hollow of her ribs. Marguerite did not flinch. She had long since ceased to flinch. She stood in the center of the atrium, the stone floor cold and unyielding beneath her bare feet. The air was thick with the scent of decay and lilies, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of her throat. Around her,...

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