The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 18:28:33 -

The bread is rotting. You see it. The black veins of mold spreading across the white loaf like a map of lost lands. It sits on the stone table. Your hand is still. Your grip is tight. The crust cracks. A piece falls. It lands on the floor. You do not pick it up. You are a guard. You are the law. The law says nothing is wasted. The law says you must eat what you are given. But the bread is...

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