The Wistful Skyline
The bread broke. It was a simple thing, a crust tearing in half, but the sound was loud in the silence of the cellar. I held the two halves in my rough hands, looking at the pale, soft flesh of it. It smelled of yeast and earth, of life that had been coaxed out of the dark soil. Outside, the wind howled against the thick stone walls of the tower. Inside, the air was still and cold, thick with...
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