The Faded Alibi
You dream of bread. It is warm. It is heavy. It smells of yeast and woodsmoke. You hold it in your hands. Your hands are old. They are spotted with liver. The crust flakes away. Crumbs fall onto your white shirt. You are wearing a white shirt. You are clean. You are not a soldier anymore. You are just a man in a house in Millhaven. But in the dream, you are not clean. The bread is not bread. It...
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