The Pale Garden

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2026-08-20 05:21:20 -

The Pale Garden

The rain does not fall so much as it seeps, a cold, gray mist that clings to the wool of your uniform and the wet gravel of the road. You are running, or perhaps stumbling, the distinction blurred by the pounding in your temples and the taste of copper in your mouth. The road is a ribbon of black mud winding through the heath, flanked by the skeletal remains of ancient yew trees that twist like...

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