The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 21:51:22 -

The Pale Garden

The banquet hall was a throat of stone. It swallowed the light. It swallowed the sound. I stood at the edge. I was the detective. I was the seeker. The air tasted of iron. And old dust. The tables stretched out. Like ribs of a beast. They were covered in white. The white was dirty. The guests sat still. They did not eat. They did not drink. They watched. Their eyes were black. Their faces were...

0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews