The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 07:48:50 -

The roof gave way at noon. You were in the cellar. The sound was not a crash. It was a sigh. A long, grinding exhale of stone and timber. Then the dust came. Thick. Gray. Cloying. It filled your lungs. You coughed. The air tasted of wet chalk and old blood. You knew what it meant. The house was dying. You had felt it for years. The walls weeping. The floorboards groaning under your feet. But...

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