The Pale Bonsai
The dream is wet. You smell iron. You taste mud. You are in the tree. No. You are under it. The roots are fingers. They hold you down. They are white. They are pale. They are bone. You wake. The cellar is cold. The air is thick. It smells of damp stone. It smells of old blood. You are Edward. You are the Warden. You are the hand of the law. You are the fist of the King. You sit up. Your bones...
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