The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 14:23:06 -

The Pale Garden

The leather of the cufflink bit into my wrist, a cold, wet bite that tasted of iron and old sweat. I was holding the door for the Master, my knuckles white, my breath held in a tight, painful knot in my chest. The air in the corridor smelled of damp stone and the sour, metallic tang of the Master’s perfume, a cloying sweetness that masked the rot of the place. I had served here for twelve...

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