The Pale Garden
The glyphs on the study door did not move in the peripheral vision; they shifted only when Elias looked directly at them, a subtle, nauseating rotation of the carved characters that defied the static nature of wood and stone. Elias, twelve years old and possessed of a mind that saw the world as a lattice of solvable equations, stood before the oak paneling of Blackwood Hall’s master study, his...
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