The Pale Bonsai
The clock in the tower strikes. You hear it before you see the spire. The sound is a bone breaking in the chest. It is the sound of the law. You are standing in the square. The cobblestones are wet. They are black. They are slick. You are wearing a dress of grey wool. It is heavy. It is cold. The fabric bites into your skin. You feel the weight of it. You feel the weight of the years. The...
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