The Pale Bridge
The willow tree grew in the courtyard of the manor, its branches heavy with the green, trembling leaves that seemed to whisper of things not yet born, a botanical anomaly that defied the season and the logic of the earth, and I held a single, damp leaf in my palm, feeling the delicate architecture of its veins against my skin, a map of water and life that I was forbidden to discard, for my...
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