The Pale Garden
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that blurred the iron gates of the High Court into a smudge of rust and stone. You are Elias, twelve years old, your coat too thin for the November chill, standing before the Head Steward’s office with a petition in your hand that smells of wet wool and desperation. You want a place. Not a job, not a favor, but a permanent...
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