The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-19 23:47:12 -

The Pale Bonsai

The rain on the thatched roof of the manor house was not water, but a sound like tearing silk, a continuous, high-pitched shriek that had begun three days ago and refused to cease. You sat at the head of the long oak table, your hands folded in your lap, the wood grain worn smooth by centuries of other hands, other prayers, other quiet despairs. You were the Seer of Blackwood Hall, a title that...

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