The Pale Garden
The silence in the room was not empty. It was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against my eardrums, thick with the smell of damp earth and old blood. I stood in the center of the garden, my boots sinking into soil that felt less like dirt and more like flesh, soft and yielding. Around me, the iron fence stretched into a mist that had no horizon, a pale, bruised purple haze that swallowed...
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