The Distant Garden

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2026-08-19 05:28:19 -

The train smelled of wet wool and rust, a scent that clung to Arthur Penhaligon’s coat as he stepped off at the station in Hallow’s End. It was a small, soot-stained town in the industrial north, where the factories belched gray plumes into a sky that seemed permanently bruised. Arthur was a clerk for the Ministry of Anomalies, a title that sounded grander than the reality of his job: filing...

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