The Pale Meridian
The bread had been in the cellar for three days, yet it did not rot. This was the first anomaly that I noticed, a quiet defiance of the natural order that settled into my mind with the weight of a stone dropped into deep water. I am a baker, or rather, I was the last baker to remain in the service of the Abbey of St. Jude, a place where the stones were so old they seemed to breathe a cold, damp...
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