The Pale Bonsai
The inspector’s pen hovered over the ledger, the nib wet with ink that smelled faintly of copper and old rain. "You understand the tax implications of a biological anomaly, Mr. Elias," he said, his voice flat and dry as the dust motes dancing in the shaft of afternoon light that cut across the study’s Persian rug. "The Ministry of Botanical Compliance does not recognize pain as a structural...
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