The Pale Bonsai
The fluorescent lights in the Ministry of Antiquities hummed with a frequency that Elias Thorne had long since stopped hearing, a constant, electric drone that served as the backdrop to the quiet, relentless rot of his soul. He sat in his windowless office, the air stale and recycled, staring at the ceramic pot on his desk that contained the pale bonsai, a tree with leaves the color of old bone...
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