The Pale Garden
The candlelight in the cellar of Harrowgate Manor flickered against the damp stone, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to writhe in the stagnant air, where Elias Thorne, a gaunt man of thirty-two with hands stained the color of old rust, knelt before the roots of a withered white rosebush, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as he clawed at the frozen earth with a rusted trowel,...
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