The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-19 20:53:31 -

The Pale Bonsai

You dream of your hands. They are not yours, or rather, they are yours, but the skin has become translucent, a parchment stretched over a lattice of white bone, and through the thin membrane you can see the dark, sluggish pulse of the veins beneath, thumping against the inside of the wrist like a trapped bird. In the dream, you are not holding a tool, nor a cup, nor a hand. You are holding...

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