The Faded Portrait
The dream began not with light, but with the weight of paper. Aldous Thorne woke with the sensation that a heavy, damp sheet of vellum was pressed against his chest, a physical barrier between his breath and the air of the cell. He lay still for a moment, his heart hammering against the ribs in a rhythm that felt ancient, prehistoric, before the sterile gray of the stone walls rushed back to...
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