The Pale Mist
The scale in the pantry held three loaves of Moonbread, their pale crusts soft as infant skin, and the needle trembled as Aldric adjusted the weight of the grain. He needed the balance to be perfect, for the pact required that the household consume the loaf before the moon crested the ridge, and any deviation meant the dust would fall, and the dust meant death. The year was 1342, and the light...
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