The Distant Garden

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2026-08-22 22:06:55 -

Elias. That was how the magistrate called out to me, sharp and thin across the noise of the feast, his voice cutting through the smell of roasted pork and damp wool. I was twelve, and I stood by the heavy oak table where the harvest was counted, my hands itching to scrub the dirt from under my fingernails. Silas was there, too, sitting in the corner with his head bowed, his breathing shallow...

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