The Golden Ritual
You eat the bread. It is stale. The crust cracks under your teeth. You chew. You swallow. The taste is dust. This is the morning after the gala. The hall is empty. The tables are stripped. The chairs are stacked. You are alone in the center. You are the last one. The lights are off. Only the streetlamps cast long, thin shadows through the windows. They look like bars. You are a Sergeant. Your...
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