The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-18 01:10:59 -

The left side of my face had stopped being mine. It was a mask of skin stretched over bone that no longer knew how to hold the shape. I touched the cheekbone. It was cold. It was hard. It was not flesh. It was stone. I was in the infirmary. The stone walls smelled of wet wool and rust. Captain Thorne stood by the window. He held a lantern. The light caught the dust. It danced. It did not...

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