The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-18 01:40:27 -

The Pale Bonsai

The clock tower in the square of Oakhaven did not just tick; it groaned. It was a sound that lived in the marrow, a low, rhythmic creak of iron against rusted iron that seemed to pull the air out of the room. "You’re not supposed to be here, Thomas," said Mrs. Gable, her voice thin and brittle as dry leaves. She stood by the window, her back to the room, staring out at the rain-slicked...

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