The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 12:26:07 -

The Pale Garden

The rain did not fall. It hung. It was a thick, gray curtain against the high windows of Blackwood Manor. Inside, the air was still. It smelled of wet wool and old dust. And wine. Dark wine. Margaret stood by the table. She held a glass. Her hand shook. Not much. Just enough. "You are quiet, Margaret." It was Thomas. He sat in the wingback chair. His face was half in shadow. He smiled. It was a...

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