The Pale Bonsai
Act I "Another leaf for the margins," Abbot Vore said, his breath a white plume in the freezing scriptorium, "or the debt remains unpaid."‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌‍​‌​‍‍‍​‌‌‍‌​⁠‌‍​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌⁠‍​‌‌‍‌​‍‌‍‍‍‍​⁠​⁠‍​‌​‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‌​ Tira Pell did not look up from the vellum, her fingers stained black to the wrist, the cold biting into the knuckles as she dipped the quill into the pot of ink that shimmered with a...
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