The Distant Garden

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2026-08-19 07:04:22 -

The library had no doors. Or rather, the doors had ceased to be. One moment they stood, heavy oak, banded with iron. The next, they were only outlines. Ghosts of wood. I stepped through the air where the threshold should have been. My feet touched cold stone. The smell of dust was thick. It tasted like old paper. And time. I am Dr. Elias Thorne. I study architecture. Specifically, the decay of...

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