The Distant Garden

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2026-08-21 14:34:07 -

The banquet hall of the Under-Earth did not smell of roasted meats or spilled wine, but of wet slate and the metallic tang of old, stagnant breath. It was a vast, circular cavern where the ceiling was lost in a darkness so profound it seemed to have weight, pressing down upon the table like a heavy velvet curtain. Margaret sat at the head of the table, her hands folded in her lap, the knuckles...

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