The Distant Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it pressed against the windowpane of the study, a cold, persistent weight that Elias Thorne felt in his shoulders before he heard the glass rattle. He sat in the silence, the air thick with the scent of damp paper and the stale tobacco of a habit he had tried to break three years ago, watching the ink on the page before him bleed into the fibers. The manuscript...
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