The Pale Bonsai
The house breathes. You feel it in the floorboards, a slow exhalation of dust and old wood. It is 3:00 AM in the living room of the Ashworth estate, a sprawling Victorian monstrosity perched on a cliff edge in the Scottish Highlands. The rain hammers against the glass, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that sounds like knuckles rapping on a coffin lid. You are twelve years old. You are wearing...
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