The Pale Garden
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray veil that turned the world into a watercolor of slate and rust, and it was in this damp, suffocating quiet that Elias Thorne watched his daughter, Clara, pack her small leather suitcase with the frantic, silent energy of a bird trapped in a cage. She did not look up as she folded her clothes, her hands trembling not from the cold, but...
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