The Pale Bonsai
I woke with the taste of iron and old paper in my mouth, the weight of the institution still pressing against my temples like a damp wool blanket. It was the morning after the Incident, or so the ledger claimed, though I could not recall the specifics of the night before. I lay in the narrow cot in my cell, a room no larger than a closet, smelling of pine resin and the faint, sweet rot of...
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