The Pale Garden
The notice was pinned to the chapel door, its ink faded to the color of dried blood. By order of the Black Guard, the Pale Garden is closed to all persons. Trespassers will be dealt with by force of arms. Gerrit Schouten read it twice, the paper trembling in his hand not from the wind, but from the weight of the silence behind it. He was thirty-two years old, a captain of the Guard, a man who...
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