The Garden of Pale Echoes
Clara lived in a world of velvet and silence, confined to the east wing of a manor that seemed to be made of frozen grief. Her life was a series of prescribed hours: prayer, embroidery, and the study of dead poets. She was a bird in a gilded cage, her only connection to the world being the window that looked out over the mist-shrouded moors. One autumn afternoon, a white bird landed on her...
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