The Pale Bonsai
The air in the Faculty of Antiquities did not smell of dust, as one might expect from a place devoted to the past, but of ozone and stale tobacco, a metallic tang that coated the tongue and hinted at the friction of minds grinding against one another. Professor Elias Thorne stood before the blackboard, his chalk trembling slightly in his fingers, not from age, but from the sheer, crushing...
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