The Distant Affair
The bread in your hands is not bread, but the compressed sorrow of a century, and you hold it against your chest as if it were a heart that has stopped beating. You are the Keeper of the Loaf, a title that sounds like a joke until you see the way the village elders bow to you, their faces hollowed out by a hunger that no physical food can satisfy. You stand in the center of the Great Hall, a...
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