The Pale Bonsai
The stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude did not breathe, yet Elara felt the air inside them thicken, pressing against her chest like wet wool. She sat in the center of the cloister, the flagstones cold through the hem of her roughspun dress, and stared at the single bonsai tree growing from a crack in the mortar. It was a pale, skeletal thing, its branches twisted into shapes that defied...
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