The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-18 14:16:43 -

The bread was black. Not burnt, but black. Like the soil in the churchyard where the rain had not touched for a week. It sat on the porcelain plate. It sat in the center of the table. It did not move. It did not breathe. But it was there. Elias stared at it. The loaf was dense. Heavy. It smelled of iron. It smelled of old blood. He had made it himself. Or so the town said. The town said he was...

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