The Distant Garden
The ivy had consumed the chandelier. It was a slow, verdant strangulation, a botanical siege that had begun in the damp corners of the atrium and crept upward with the patience of centuries. Silas Vane, the man who had once bartered in silk and sorrow, stood before the green curtain and watched a leaf detach from the gilded armature. It spiraled down, dry and brown, landing on the polished...
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