The Distant Wound
The dream was a house of glass. It stood in a field of grey ash, silent and absolute. In the center of the floor lay a loaf of bread. It was white, soft, and warm. Elias remembered holding it. He remembered the weight of it against his palms, the way the crust gave slightly under his thumb. Then the dream shifted. The glass shattered. Not violently, but with a sound like ice breaking on a...
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