The Pale Tower

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-18 13:06:53 -

The Pale Tower

The bread was warm. It sat on the stone slab, a perfect golden dome, smelling of yeast and the damp earth we had turned over in the garden that morning. I cut a slice with the heavy iron knife my father had given me before he left for the capital. The crust cracked with a sound like a dry twig snapping underfoot. I held the slice up to the window. The light filtered through the dust motes...

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