The Pale Banner

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2026-08-18 12:50:40 -

The Pale Banner

The bread was stale. I ate it anyway. It tasted of dust and the cold wind that had blown through the cracked window all night. I am a baker. Or I was. The distinction is academic now. The bakery is gone. The city is a memory, a ghost of stone and smoke that haunts the edges of my mind. I walk. I have been walking for so long I have forgotten the shape of my own feet. They are calloused, hard as...

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