The Pale Banner
The dream was not a dream but a taste, a thick, cloying sweetness that coated the back of Silas Thorne’s throat, the flavor of burnt caramel and old pennies, a sensory hallucination so vivid it felt like a physical bruise blooming against his tongue as he woke in the narrow, damp room above the bakery in the village of Oakhaven, a place that seemed to exist in a permanent state of twilight...
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