The Pale Bonsai
The ink smells of copper and rot, a scent that clings to the inside of your nostrils like a persistent, bitter aftertaste. You are Elias, twelve years old, a scribe of modest talent in the Abbey of St. Jude, and your hands shake as you hold the quill over the parchment. You want to save Elara. She is dying in the infirmary, her lungs filling with fluid, her skin turning the color of old...
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