The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 06:06:33 -

"You’re under arrest." The voice was not my own. Or rather, it was, but it felt borrowed. Thin. Stripped of its marrow. I stood in the center of the square, the cobblestones slick with morning rain. The crowd had not dispersed. They watched. They always watch. The rain tasted of iron and old stone. I held the badge. It was a circle of tarnished silver. A mirror. It reflected only the grey sky....

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