The Distant Garden
The fog in Oakhaven did not drift so much as it insisted, a grey, viscous substance that pressed against the windowpanes of the archive like a living thing seeking entry. Elias Thorne sat in the center of this grey, his hands trembling around the shards of a porcelain vase that had once held a miniature garden of ceramic flowers, now broken into a jagged constellation of white and blue. He was...
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