The Pale Bonsai
The rusted shears snapped with a sound like a bone breaking, sending Elias Thorne sprawling backward into a mountain of yellowed ledgers that smelled of mildew and old ink. He lay there, gasping, his eyes fixed on the Pale Bonsai, a spectral, whitish tree that had erupted from the floorboards of his office in the soot-choked mill town of Oakhaven, its branches twisting in a slow, deliberate...
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