The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 08:14:17 -

The Pale Garden

The air in the dispensary tasted of iron and rot. It was a thick, cloying scent that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s tongue, a permanent film he could not scrape away. He stood before the glass cabinets, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence. Outside, the November rain lashed against the high windows of St. Jude’s Sanatorium, blurring the gray...

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