The Pale Bonsai
The iron bars of the cell do not vibrate, but you feel the hum in your teeth, a low-frequency thrum that suggests the stone itself is holding its breath. You are standing in a place that looks like the interior of a great brass lung, the air thick with the scent of ozone and damp wool, a sensory assault that your body recognizes as wrong before your mind can articulate the error. You are here...
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