The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-19 06:36:14 -

The bread was cold. I pressed my thumb into the soft crust. It gave way. Like skin. Like old clay. We left the village at dawn. The mist hung low. It swallowed the wheels. It swallowed the trees. My father drove the cart. His hands were white. His knuckles were swollen. He did not look at me. I held the loaf. It was my armor. It was my heart. We walked into the wild. The road dissolved. Mud...

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