The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-18 20:37:37 -

The cold does not ask your permission. It seeps into the marrow of your bones, a slow, liquid iron that freezes the blood in your veins and turns the air in your lungs into shards of glass. You are walking, or perhaps you are dragging yourself, through the grey, howling expanse of the North Reach, where the wind scours the flesh from the bone and the sky is a bruised, unbroken slab of lead. You...

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