The Pale Bonsai
The bonsai in the Ministry of Aesthetics does not photosynthesize. It consumes. You know this because the leaves turn a sickly, pale green every time a subordinate’s spirit breaks. You are Elias, thirty-two, a clerk with ink-stained fingers and a heart full of unpaid bills for your father’s long hospital stay. You need the permanent post. You need the money. You need to survive Vane. Vane is...
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