The Pale Garden

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2026-08-21 12:09:49 -

The Pale Garden

The house breathed. It was a slow, wet respiration. Dust motes danced in the shafts of pale afternoon light, suspended like insects in amber. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the drawing room. She wore black. Her hair was pinned back, tight and severe. She looked at the door. The door was closed. "Open it," she said. Her voice was thin. It scraped against the silence. The man in the...

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