The Distant Garden

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2026-08-22 00:17:06 -

"You’ve done it again, Arthur. You’ve let the petals fall." The voice was not a voice. It was a texture, a velvet drag against the inside of my skull, yet it carried the distinct, cold cadence of my late wife, Clara. I sat in the high-backed leather chair of the university’s reading room, the afternoon light filtering through the dust motes in a slanting, accusatory beam. Before me lay a book...

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