The Distant Garden
The ledger in your hand weighs exactly three pounds, four ounces, and two pennies worth of ink stains. You count the entries in the cold blue light of the watchhouse, the numbers blurring as the winter wind rattles the shutters. Eleven hours on duty. Fourteen days until the solstice. One cracked bell tower. One dying daughter. You are Elias, a watchman, and you have spent twenty years keeping...
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