The Faded Photograph

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2026-08-21 16:00:48 -

The bread had begun to change before I noticed. It sat in the clay bowl, pale and soft, but the surface was shifting. A faint grey dust gathered in the crevices. It looked like ash, or perhaps the skin of a thing long dead. I watched it for an hour. My hands were still. The wind outside hit the stone walls, a low, constant moan that vibrated in my teeth. I am a scholar of words, of the old...

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