The Wistful Show
"You look pale, Master Elias." The voice was soft. It belonged to a boy. The boy stood by the door. He held a basket. The basket held bread. The bread was dark. It was dense. It smelled of smoke. Elias did not turn. He faced the wall. The wall was cold. The stone bit into his back. He was old. His joints ached. The ache was a constant drumbeat. It lived in his knees. It lived in his spine. "I...
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