The Pale Bonsai
“You’re late, Arthur. Again. Do you think the dust cares about your convenience? It settles whether you are here or not.” Elara stood in the center of the atrium, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, her knuckles white against the deep blue of her wool coat. The air in the Hall of Whispers was thick, heavy with the scent of old paper and the metallic tang of impending rain that always...
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