The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 11:38:19 -

The needle was in my mouth, cold and metallic, as the hem of my father’s ceremonial coat tore further, a jagged wound in the dark wool that wept not thread but a viscous, black sap. I was twelve, and the house was breathing, the walls expanding and contracting with a slow, rhythmic heave that rattled the windowpanes in their frames. I had wanted to repair the coat before the harvest festival, a...

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