The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 06:36:45 -

The carriage wheels churned through the mud of the valley floor, a rhythmic, muddy churning that sounded less like travel and more like the grinding of bones against stone. Margaret sat with her hands folded in her lap, her knuckles white, watching the gray mist roll in from the hills that bordered the industrial district of Ashworth. She was wearing the coat. It was not a coat one typically...

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