The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-22 21:04:48 -

The Pale Bonsai

The feast of St. Jude was a riot of wax and wine, a sensory assault that made my rotting hands ache with a phantom hunger, as if the grease and the roasted goose could somehow fill the hollows where my strength had been eaten away by the ink. I sat at the far end of the refectory, the heavy oak table separating me from the laughter of the brothers, watching the candlelight dance on the faces of...

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