The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-21 08:53:41 -

The Pale Bonsai

The rain against the window of the glasshouse did not sound like rain. It sounded like the shuffling of dry leaves, or perhaps the quiet, frantic pacing of a small animal trapped in a cage. Margaret sat on the velvet chaise longue, her fingers laced tightly together, the knuckles white, the nails bitten down to the quick. In the center of the room, suspended in a sphere of humid, perfumed air,...

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