In the small village of Oakhaven, Beatrice ran the only bakery. Her sourdough was legendary, not just for its crusty perfection, but because a loaf bought on Monday would stay perfectly fresh until the following Sunday, never molding, never hardening.
The secret wasn't yeast or flour; it was a single pinch of "Moment Dust," collected once a year from the point where the old clock tower's shadow touched the church wall at high noon on the Summer Solstice.
Beatrice was an older woman who valued consistency. Her life ran like clockwork, just like her bread’s expiration date. But one Tuesday, a traveling vagabond with bright, chaotic eyes swapped her usual jar of Moment Dust with a handful of glittering river sand while she was distracted by a fussy customer.
Beatrice, none the wiser, baked the next batch.
That evening, a customer returned a loaf she had bought that morning. "Mrs. Beatrice, this loaf is strange. I sliced it for dinner, and when I went back for seconds ten minutes later, the first slice had reverted to dough!"
Beatrice, confused, tested another loaf. She watched a golden-brown baguette slowly de-bake, shrinking and softening back into a raw, pale log of dough right before her eyes.
The vagabond hadn't stolen time; he had reversed it. Her bakery was now an unpredictable temporal anomaly zone.
Panic set in. Soon, loaves were floating back into her kitchen window, un-baked, sometimes still mixed with the ingredients from the farm. The shop filled with the smell of rising dough and the frantic energy of reversed time.
Beatrice sat down amidst the chaos, covered in flour. She looked at the river sand. This wasn't a curse; it was freedom from her rigid routine. She couldn't sell a loaf that de-baked itself, but she could mix a batch of cookies, bake them, and if she regretted the calories, simply watch them turn back into raw batter.
Life in Oakhaven became wonderfully strange. People didn't buy Beatrice's bread anymore. They rented the bakery for parties, watching food cooked once immediately disappear and reappear. Beatrice, for the first time in thirty years, didn't know what tomorrow's batch would bring. She finally felt free.
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