The Distant Garden

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2026-08-20 16:50:03 -

The rain in the capital did not fall; it descended, a grey curtain drawn tight against the world to hide the rot within. I stood at the gates of the High Court, my uniform a heavy thing of wool and brass, smelling of wet stone and old iron. In my hand, I held the sash. It was a strip of crimson silk, once the color of a wound, now faded to the hue of dried blood. It had belonged to Julian. He...

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