The Pale Bonsai
The marble floor of the Grand Hall was not merely cold; it was a mirror of indifference, reflecting the distorted, frantic shapes of those who had come to beg, to scream, to exist in the shadow of the man who sat at the apex of the world’s power. I stood there, my fingers trembling not from the chill that seeped through the soles of my shoes but from the sheer, crushing weight of the air, which...
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