The Distant Garden
The parchment lay flat on the obsidian table, its edges curling slightly in the dry heat of the High Court. It was a standard form, Item 74-B, Concerning the Linguistic Integrity of the Minor, signed by three clerks whose ink was still wet and smelling of iron. Elias, twelve years old and barefoot on the cold stone floor, stared at the document. His mother’s name was written in the margin, not...
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