The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 05:42:03 -

The Pale Garden

The mist did not roll in so much as it rose, a cold, grey membrane that swallowed the village of Oakhaven whole before I had even reached the edge of the moor. I was twenty-eight years old, and the weight of the debt we owed to Magistrate Thorne pressed against my ribs like a physical stone, a sum that would be collected by dawn if I did not return with the White Root. Julian lay in the bed...

0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews