The Distant Garden

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2026-08-22 21:16:27 -

The dream always began with the smell of iron and wet clay, a scent that clung to the back of Elias’s throat like a bad taste before it dissolved into the grey light of the scriptorium. He woke with his fingers twitching, the phantom sensation of vellum stretching beneath his skin, and knew with a cold, precise certainty that the *Book of Hours* for the Duke of Ashworth was nearly finished, and...

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