The Pale Bonsai
The crate was heavy. Elias set it down in the courtyard of St. Jude’s, the wood groaning under the weight of the pale bonsai inside. Rain slicked the cobblestones, turning the grey sky into a bruised ceiling. He knocked on the iron-bound door. No one came. He knocked again, harder, his knuckles white against the cold metal. The door opened a crack. A sliver of light cut through the gloom. "Who...
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