The Pale Garden

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2026-08-21 15:43:12 -

The Pale Garden

The feast was not a celebration of joy, but of endurance. In the high, stone-walled hall of the manor, the air hung heavy with the scent of roasted boar and beeswax candles, a thick, golden haze that seemed to trap the breath of the guests in their throats. Sir Aldous sat at the head of the table, his spine rigid as the iron bars of his cell, which was no longer a place of confinement but a...

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