The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 15:45:11 -

The Pale Garden

The cellar smelled of wet stone and the sharp, metallic tang of overripe plums, a scent that had seeped into the very marrow of my bones during the long, grey days of my apprenticeship under Master Aldous, where the air was thick not with dust but with the heavy, suffocating weight of unspoken debts and the quiet, rhythmic pounding of a pestle against mortar that seemed to beat in time with the...

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