And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest — Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest — Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest — Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest — Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest — Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest loaves, her pies full of anguish and days long dead, her fairy-haunted gingerbread, her cakes wet with tears.

— Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

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