The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-24 10:48:24 -

The Pale Bonsai

The bonsai sat on the table, a gnarled thing of pale wood and dried needles, its roots choking the small clay pot like a fist closing around a throat. Elias Thorne stared at it, the way one stares at a wound that will not heal, counting the years in the rings of the bark. He was fifty-two, which meant he had kept this tree for thirty years, or so he believed, since the day Arthur had pressed it...

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