The Pale Bonsai
Act I I remember the damp first, how it seeped into the plaster of the retraining center until the walls wept a cold, grey sweat, and I was standing at the head of the queue for the final inventory, my hands trembling as I held the scan gun, the device beeping a steady, indifferent rhythm against the silence of the Swiss alpine valley where the lake district lay stranded like a fleet of broken...
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