The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 10:34:14 -

The Pale Garden

"You are late," the voice said. It was not a question. It was a stone dropped into a deep, still well. I stood in the corridor. The air was cold. It smelled of dust and old paper. I am the investigator. I am here to find the truth. The truth is a wound. It does not heal. It festers. Margaret stood by the window. She was small. She was pale. She looked like a ghost. She looked like me. The glass...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews