The Pale Bonsai
The coat was heavy, not with wool or velvet, but with the accumulated weight of a hundred silent accusations and the damp, rotting smell of the underground river that ran beneath the palace foundations. I wore it always, even in the stifling heat of the upper halls, for it was the only thing that reminded me that I was still a body, still a thing that could be cold, could be wet, could be...
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