The Pale Bonsai
The rain hits the glass with a rhythmic, industrial thud. You are in the room. The room is small. The air is thick with the smell of wet wool and old paper. You are not alone. Your brother stands by the window. He wears his uniform. It is clean. It is pressed. It looks like armor. He does not turn around. He watches the street below. The street is empty. The street is gray. The lights are...
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