The Distant Garden

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2026-08-20 19:53:04 -

"The glass is cracked." I looked up from the ledger. The ink was still wet, glistening like a fresh wound on the parchment. I had been writing for three hours. My hand cramped. The pain was a dull, familiar ache, a companion I had carried for years. "Again?" I asked. I did not look at the door. I did not need to. I knew the weight of his boots. I knew the specific, heavy silence that preceded...

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