The Pale Garden
"Thomas, if you are there, answer me." The silence that followed was not empty; it was thick, a physical weight pressing against the inside of her ears, punctuated only by the wet, rhythmic dripping of sap from the eaves. Elara stood in the center of the garden, the stone path cracked beneath her boots, the air tasting of copper and rotting lilies. She had written the letter three times,...
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