The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-24 11:45:31 -

The Pale Bonsai

The dream began with the smell of wet earth and old paper. I was standing in my office at the Ministry of Records, but the floorboards were gone, replaced by a pale, gnarled bonsai tree. Its roots drank deeply from the inkwells, black veins pulsing through the white wood. I woke with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs, the taste of rust on my tongue. It was 1912, and I was Elias Thorne,...

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