The Pale Bonsai
The candle sputters, throwing long, jagged shadows against the damp stone of the cellar. You are Elias, thirty-two, and your lungs feel like they are filled with wet ash. You want to keep your job. You want to pay the rent. The Pale Bonsai sits in its clay pot, a twisted root system that glows with a faint, sickly luminescence in the dark. It is beautiful, and it is eating you. The rule is...
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