The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 16:32:26 -

The Pale Garden

The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the high windows of the asylum, blurring the boundary between the stone interior and the damp earth beyond. Wren sat on the edge of his cot, his hands resting in his lap, fingers laced together with a tension that spoke of a long, quiet endurance. He was twelve years old, though the hollows beneath his cheekbones...

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