The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 16:52:36 -

The Pale Garden

You dream of lace. It is white. It is cold. It clings to the air like a spider’s web in a windless room. You see it on a chair. You see it on a hook. It is a shawl. It is a ghost. You reach for it. Your hand passes through the silk. The fabric shatters. Not into threads. Into dust. Into light. You wake. The room is gray. The light is thin. It cuts through the curtains. It is morning. Or it is...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews