The Pale Bonsai
Act I "Put the pen down, Marko. You are trembling." Slobodan Jovanovic watched the junior clerk’s hand shake over the ledger. The inkwell sat on the desk, a black eye staring up at the ceiling. Outside, the wind pushed against the glass of the archive room, a cold force that smelled of salt and old stone. Slobodan was fifty-eight. His knees ached with the weight of thirty years of service, a...
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