The Pale Bonsai
The stone floor of the Palace of Echoes was not merely cold; it was a living, breathing entity of damp and decay that seeped up through the soles of your boots, a sensation that you had long since mistaken for a personal failing, a chill that lived in your marrow rather than in the weather. You stood in the center of the Grand Atrium, the air thick with the scent of mildew and old parchment,...
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