The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 23:24:20 -

The oak tree in the garden was dying. I watched it from the window of the library, where I had been banished by my own volition. The leaves were not green. They were the color of old bruised plums, heavy and wet, clinging to the branches with a desperate, final grip. It was November. The air in the house was thick with the scent of dried lavender and decay. I had come to this estate to inherit...

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