The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:55:37 -

The Pale Bonsai

The iron pot sat in the center of the table, black and cold. It was not a pot for soup. It was a vessel for silence. I watched the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that cut through the high, arched window. The light was gray. The room was gray. Everything in the Abbey of St. Jude had a gray soul. I am Eleanor. I am the daughter of the Abbot. I am also the thief. They did not call...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews