The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-18 01:38:23 -

The rain in the city of Aethelgard did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into mirrors that reflected the soot-blackened bell towers and the pale, exhausted faces of those who walked them. You stood on the corner of Weaver’s Lane, your coat thin and damp, the fabric clinging to your ribs like a second skin. In your hand, you held a clay pot, its...

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