The Distant Garden
The heavy iron key was cold in Elias Thorne’s palm, a slab of dead metal that smelled of rust and old iron filings. He held it up to the gray light of the October morning, turning it slowly as if the act might change its shape, before he looked past his fingers to the ruin that had once been Blackwood Manor. The house stood in the center of the field, a skeletal thing of jagged brick and...
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