The Pale Bonsai
The frostbite took your right hand first, then the left, but you did not feel the loss until the snow began to fall on the black iron railings of the conservatory, a slow, silent burial of the glass. You are standing in the center of the garden, which is no longer a garden but a wound in the earth, a place where the soil has turned to ash and the roots of the ancient oaks claw upward like...
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