The Pale Bonsai
The counterweight on the balance scale had slipped, and you knew it by the way the brass needle trembled, a tiny, frantic bird trapped in a cage of glass, ticking against the silence of the workshop. You were twelve years old, though your body had begun to shrink, the flesh pulling away from the bone as the wasting sickness that had taken your mother now settled into your own marrow, a cold...
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