The Pale Garden

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2026-08-20 00:43:53 -

The Pale Garden

The fog did not roll in; it rose from the black, churning water like a ghost remembering its own shape. You stood at the edge of the pier, the wood slick with slime and the scent of brine so thick you could taste iron on your tongue. The ship was not a vessel of trade or war, but a cage of iron and glass, a cathedral built for the damned. Inside, the lights hummed with a frequency that made...

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