The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 22:03:54 -

The Pale Garden

Elara, the Abbot’s voice cut through the silence of the scriptorium like a blade of ice, sharp and final, stopping the scratching of my quill mid-stroke. I looked up, my hand still trembling from the cold that had settled into my joints over the last three nights, a cold that did not seem to come from the drafty windows but from within the marrow of my bones. The Abbot stood by the heavy oak...

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