The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 13:09:33 -

The dream was of a garden, but the flowers were made of glass, and they shattered when I breathed on them. I woke with a sharp, white pain in the left side of my palm. It was not a bruise. It was a splinter, long and jagged, driven deep into the meat of my hand. I am Elias Thorne. I am forty-two years old. I am a night watchman in Oakhaven. The town is fog-bound, always, the mist so thick it...

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