The Pale Shadows
The rain had stopped. The mud remained. I stood at the gate of the mill, watching the water drain into the ditch. It smelled of iron and rot. My name is Elara. I am a baker. I make the bread that keeps the garrison fed. I make the bread that keeps them alive. I make the bread that makes them forget. The flour sacks were heavy. They were always heavy. I dragged them to the stone. The stone was...
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