The Pale Garden

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2026-08-22 07:00:25 -

The Pale Garden

The chisel slipped. A sliver of limestone, sharp as a razor, bit into my thumb. I did not cry out. I wrapped my hand in a rag and kept striking. The Guild Hall was a beast of stone, and I was its tooth. My debt was a number, a cold ledger entry that kept me awake while the fog pressed against the windows of my workshop. Three years. Three years since Mara had walked into the river and not come...

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