The Distant Garden

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2026-08-22 09:03:30 -

The feast was loud. It smelled of roast pork and old wine. You sat at the end of the long table. Your father, Arthur, sat at the head. He did not look at you. He looked at the garden. The garden was outside. But it was also inside. It was always inside. You were seven. Or maybe eight. Time was slippery here. The candles flickered. The wax dripped like slow tears. You picked at your peas. They...

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