The Wistful Voyage
You are standing in the kitchen. The air is thick with the smell of yeast and burnt sugar. It is a smell that coats the back of the throat, sticky and warm. You are holding a bowl. It is heavy. The ceramic is cold against your palms, a sharp contrast to the heat rising from the dough inside. You are looking at Margaret. She is looking at the door. Her face is pale, drained of color, like the...
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