The Pale Garden
Act I "You cannot bring that into the Ministry," the curator said, his voice flat as the concrete floor beneath their feet.‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌‍​‍​⁠‌‌​⁠​‍‍‍‌​‌​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌‍‍⁠‍⁠‍‍⁠​‌‍‍‍‍​⁠​‌​​​​‌‌⁠⁠​⁠⁠​‌⁠‌ Friedrich Becker stood in the center of the sterile, white room, the watercolor clutched to his chest like a shield. He was twelve, small for his age, with hands that trembled not from cold but from...
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