The Pale Garden
The dream is always the same: a garden of white stone, where the grass is woven thread and the sun is a needle eye. I wake with the taste of iron in my mouth and the scent of old wool in the air. I am Elias, thirty-two, a junior archivist in the Blackfriars Monastery, and I want the position of Senior Keeper. I want it because I am tired of the damp, of the silence, of being seen as a defect in...
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