The Pale Garden
The dust in the scriptorium tasted of iron and old rot. Elias Thorne sat hunched over the desk, his magnifying glass trembling in a hand that no longer obeyed his will. He was forty years old, but his eyes felt eighty. The cipher on the parchment before him, known to the town of Oakhaven as the Pale Garden, was a maze of symbols that shifted and blurred at the edges. He needed to solve it. Not...
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