The Pale Garden

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-22 11:28:06 -

The Pale Garden

The hand was severed at the wrist. It floated above the bed, severed from the arm, the palm open and white as bleached bone. I reached for it, but it did not come. It hung there, a detached instrument of my own making, useless and absolute. I woke with the taste of copper in my mouth, the phantom sensation of the cut still fresh on the skin. It is a dream that has haunted me for three years,...

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