The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-17 20:22:48 -

The rain stops. You stand on the threshold of the chapel. The stone is cold under your feet. The air tastes of iron and wet moss. You are alone. The village sleeps below. The mist rises from the valley floor. It climbs the hillside. It wraps around the church walls. You breathe in. The mist enters your lungs. It stays there. You do not cough. You do not flinch. You accept it. The cold is a...

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