The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 17:48:09 -

The Pale Garden

The air in the Conservatory of St. Jude’s, a decaying Victorian glasshouse perched on the jagged cliffs of the Cornish coast, tasted of brine and rot, a heavy, suffocating perfume that Margaret Holloway had come to know better than the scent of her own skin, a scent that had long since ceased to be merely botanical and had become, in her exhausted mind, the very essence of the institution that...

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