The Wistful Show
The frost did not merely settle on the cobblestones of the market square; it devoured them, a white silence that swallowed the sound of your boots as you walked. You were a tanner, a man of hands stained the color of dried blood and hide, and you carried a satchel that weighed more than your body. Inside, wrapped in oiled cloth, was the only thing in this world that mattered: a loaf of bread,...
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