The Pale Bonsai
The fluorescent lights in the basement of the Municipal Archives hum with a frequency that seems to vibrate directly against the fillings in your teeth, a sterile, white noise that has become the soundtrack to your forty-two years of life, and you are Elias Thorne, a junior archivist whose hands are perpetually dry from the climate-controlled air, standing before a steel box that smells of old...
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