The Distant Nightmare
It was the bread that first betrayed him, or perhaps it was the way the bread seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting within the clay bowl with a rhythm that did not match the stillness of the room. Sir Aldous Vane sat at the head of the long oak table in the great hall of Blackwood Manor, his fingers resting lightly on the rim of the bowl, his knuckles white against the dark wood, and he...
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