The Pale Bonsai
The letter lay on the workbench, its edges soft from being folded and unfolded too many times, the ink smudged where my thumb had rested against the signature line, a final, bureaucratic confirmation that the estate’s debts were to be settled by the completion of the altar before the first frost, a deadline that felt less like a date and more like a noose tightening around my neck. I picked up...
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