The Golden Quest
The bread was a lie, a pale and soft deception that sat upon the white linen tablecloth like a small, dead bird, and I watched it with the dull, persistent hunger of a man who has forgotten the taste of anything but ash, for in the high, echoing halls of the Abbey of St. Jude, where the air smelled of beeswax, old stone, and the slow decay of centuries, we did not eat to live but to prove that...
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