The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 18:47:44 -

The Pale Garden

The glass was cold. It sat on the nightstand, a small, perfect cylinder of silence. Mara held it with both hands. Her fingers were white. She breathed in. The scent was sharp. It smelled of rain on hot asphalt. It smelled of the hospital waiting room where she had sat for three days. It smelled of her father. He was gone now. The funeral was over. The flowers had wilted. The house was empty....

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