The Pale Garden
The glass shattered against the tile. It was not a clean break. It was a violent, jagged explosion of white shards that scattered across the kitchen floor of the house on Elm Street. Elias stared at the ruin. His hands were trembling. They were always trembling lately. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with the scent of old dust and something sweeter, something like rotting peaches. He was...
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