The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 07:57:45 -

The Pale Garden

The wind howls through the broken panes of the infirmary. It is a cold, wet sound. It sounds like a dog dying in the snow. You sit in the corner. Your hands are steady. They have been steady for three days. You do not sleep. You do not eat. You watch the door. The facility is old. The walls sweat. The pipes groan in the walls like old men with bad joints. You are a guard here. Or a doctor. Or a...

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