The Wistful Show
The pantry door, a slab of oak heavy with the scent of damp earth and stale tallow, had been locked from the outside for the better part of four hours, a silent imprisonment that felt less like a punishment and more like a slow suffocation of the air itself. Elias sat on a crate of potatoes, his knees drawn up to his chest, the cold seeping through the thin wool of his trousers, listening to...
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