The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-18 23:14:44 -

The Pale Bonsai

The banquet hall smells of wet wool and old varnish. You are sitting at the head of the long table, the one reserved for the men who have served the town longest. There is no food. There is only the silence of the chairs and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, a sound so loud it feels like a hammer striking an anvil. You look at your hands. They are steady. They are the hands of a man...

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