The Pale Bonsai
The glass shattered not with a crash, but with a sigh, a long, exhalatory groan that seemed to suck the oxygen from the room. "Do you see it?" I asked, my voice trembling less from fear than from the sheer absurdity of the moment. Margaret Holloway did not look up from her tea. She was stirring it with a spoon that had no business being in a cup, the liquid swirling in a perfect, hypnotic...
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