The Pale Garden
The iron gate of the Blackwood estate did not squeak, nor did it groan under the weight of the November wind, but it remained shut, a jagged black tooth in the mouth of the hillside, sealing the garden within. For three years, Elara had walked the perimeter of her confinement, counting the cracks in the limestone wall, each fracture a testament to the slow, inevitable decay that time imposed...
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