The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-17 19:02:07 -

You are lying in the narrow cot that groans under the weight of your own guilt, the air in the cell thick with the smell of damp stone and the metallic tang of old blood that seems to seep not from the walls but from the very pores of your skin, a scent that has become so intimate with you that you can no longer distinguish it from the aroma of the lavender sachet your wife, Eleanor, once...

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