The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-18 03:39:33 -

The fog does not lift. It thickens. You stand at the edge of the white void, the cold biting through your wool and iron. Your hands are numb. You do not feel them. You only know they are there, gripping the hilt of a sword that feels heavier than it should. It is a burden of history, of blood, of things you were told not to remember. But you remember. You always remember. Behind you, the castle...

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