The Distant Garden

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2026-08-19 17:12:25 -

The house burned. It was a slow, orange thing. Not a fire that roared, but one that whispered. It ate the oak floors. It drank the curtains. It licked the spines of the books. I watched from the garden. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a man of wood and varnish. I build things that last. Or so I thought. The smoke smelled of pine and regret. It was a Tuesday. Rain had fallen all morning. The air...

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