The Distant Garden
The stone walls of the cellar wept. It was a cold, mineral sweat that gathered in the corners where the mortar had failed, dripping onto the flagstones with a rhythm that matched Elias’s own failing pulse. He sat at the heavy oak table, the only piece of furniture in the room that did not seem to belong to the earth itself. Before him lay the Ledger of the Hollow King, a book bound in skin so...
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