The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 20:26:03 -

The Pale Garden

The glass bird sat on the high shelf in the Hall of Mirrors. It was not a real bird. It was a thing of blown silica, thin as a breath, curved into the shape of a heron. Its wings were spread in a permanent, frozen scream. I had been watching it for three days. I was nine years old. I had been nine years old for three days. The palace was cold. Not the cold of winter, which has a bite to it, but...

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