The Golden Ritual
I woke with the taste of chalk dust and copper in my mouth, a dry, gritty residue that clung to the roof of my throat like a bad memory. The dream had been simple, almost mundane in its clarity: I was standing in a field of tall, golden wheat that stretched to the horizon, and I was holding a loaf of bread that was still warm from the oven. The crust was shattering in my hands, flaking away...
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