The Pale Bonsai
"The tree is dying, Master." The words hung in the cold air of the garden, sharp as a snapped twig. I stood before the great stone basin, my hands still stained with the dark, wet soil of the earth I had left behind. The bonsai, a pale, twisted thing of white bark and silver leaves, shivered in the wind that howled through the high windows of the tower. It was not a tree from this world. I knew...
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