The Faded Portrait
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey, suspended veil that turned the cobblestones of the abbey yard into mirrors of the bruised sky, and it was within this damp, suffocating silence that Elias Thorne found the first feather, a plume of iridescent blue that seemed to glow with an inner light despite the gloom, a fragment of a bird that had no right to exist in this age of stone and...
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