The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 00:01:33 -

The Pale Garden

The letter lay on the workbench, its ink still wet and glistening under the gaslight, a stark white rectangle against the dark, scarred wood where the glass cooled and hardened. I had dictated the words to my apprentice, Silas, who stood in the corner with his head bowed, his hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, suffocating cold that radiated from the pipe I held. I told him, in a...

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