The Pale Bonsai
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude’s was not a road at all but a suggestion of passage, a muddy ribbon that wound through the fog so thick it seemed to have texture, a wet, grey wool pressed against the face, and Elara, who was not quite a woman of the world but something older, something that had slipped through the cracks of the village and into the spaces between the stones, walked it with a...
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