The Distant Garden
The dream always began with the sound of glass grinding against glass, a high, thin shriek that vibrated in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s twelve-year-old bones before he was fully awake, before the grey light of the Pacific Northwest dawn could penetrate the heavy, blackout curtains of his bedroom. In the dream, he stood in a garden of perfect, crystalline structures, each pane reflecting not...
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