The Pale Circus
The oak tree stood in the center of the garden. It was ancient. Its roots gripped the earth like fingers. They were deep. They were dark. They held the house up. Or so it seemed. Elias lived in the house. He was a scholar. He wrote on paper. The paper was white. The ink was black. He wrote about the tree. He wrote every day. He did not look at the sky. He looked at the roots. He knew the roots....
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