The Distant Garden

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2026-08-25 14:03:37 -

The letter sat on the workbench, its ink still wet and smelling of iron, and I read the total owed to the Apothecary Guild three times before I signed my name in the margin. Four hundred silver marks. That was the price of the tonic that kept Mara’s lungs from filling with the black sludge the city exhaled, and it was more than I had saved in two years of cataloging dust. I folded the paper...

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