The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-18 18:54:53 -

The bread is still warm. You can feel the heat radiating from the loaf as you hold it in your hands, the crust cracking under your thumb with a sound like dry leaves. It smells of yeast and time, a scent that belongs to your mother’s kitchen, not to this cold stone house where you are currently confined. You are a soldier. Or perhaps you were. The distinction has blurred in the weeks since your...

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