The Faded Portrait
"Look at it," I said, my voice trembling not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the air in the room. "It’s not a portrait. It’s a cage." Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. The office was vast, a cathedral of glass and steel that smelled of ozone and old paper. Outside, the city hummed its indifferent electric song, but in here, the air was still, thick with the presence of...
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