The S.
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Hearken, good folk, and lend thine ear.
Whilst England stood embattled ‘gainst the tyrant King of France—I broke my fast for an hour’s peace at Lucia’s bakehouse.
With me I bore my fair shield maiden Anna whose smile hath weathered many a campaign, and together we sought refuge not in castle nor cloister, but in Lucia’s Bake House, a sanctuary more puissant than fortress walls.
Lo, upon entering, the air itself did conspire to undo us, laden with the perfume of sugared crumb and warm bread, such as might cause even a war-hardened man to forget the drumbeat of battle. We partook of Croissants so delectable, so wondrous in their toothsomeness, that I swear by Saint George they could soften the stoniest heart in all Christendom.
Each bite was a truce; each morsel, a victory. Had such fare been set upon the king’s table in France, mayhap this endless war had found its end in pastry rather than blood.
My maiden did smile, and I, though sworn to sword and shield, found myself utterly conquered. Thus do I commend Lucia’s Bake House to knight and commoner alike—for where bread is this good, peace cannot be far behind!