The Pale Garden
The iron gate did not open; it shattered. That was the first thing I learned about the nature of our exile, and the second was that silence in the village of Oakhaven was not a lack of sound, but a heavy, suffocating blanket woven from centuries of unspoken fear. I stood amidst the splintered remains of the boundary, my hands still trembling with the effort of pushing through, the metal...
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