The Pale Bonsai
The parchment lay flat on the stone table, the ink still wet and glistening like a bruise. It was a letter from the Chancellor, written in a hand so sharp it seemed to cut the air, and Master Elias, the court arborist, read the words that demanded the immediate pruning of the Pale Bonsai in the King’s garden. He knew the reason before the sentence ended. The tree had begun to bleed, a dark,...
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