The Pale Garden
The first thing I noticed about the Blackwood Manor estate was not the rot, which was extensive and pervasive, but the dress, a pale silk wedding gown hanging from a rusted iron hook in the empty east wing, its hem brushing the dust-covered floorboards with a rhythmic, hypnotic sway that defied the stillness of the air. I had arrived in Oakhaven only three days prior, my trunk packed with the...
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