The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 03:16:19 -

I woke with the taste of iron and old rain in my mouth, the dream still clinging to me like wet wool. In the dream, the oaks were not trees but men, standing rigid in the mist, their bark splitting to reveal eyes that were not eyes but hollow sockets of white fire. I remembered the oath. I remembered the weight of the sword that was not a sword but a branch of hawthorn, heavy as guilt, heavy as...

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