The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:13:15 -

The Pale Garden

The house did not sleep. It dreamed, and in its dreaming, the plaster peeled from the walls like dead skin, revealing the black void beneath. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the attic, her breath forming small, ghostly clouds in the air. The cold here was not merely an absence of heat; it was a presence, a heavy, wet thing that pressed against her lungs and demanded she exhale the last...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews