The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 08:00:07 -

The ink was still wet. It glistened on the page like a fresh wound, black and slick against the cream of the paper. Elias stood before the desk, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the weight of what he had written. The room was small, a single box of stone and timber deep within the old family estate. The air smelled of damp wool and the sharp, metallic tang of iron. Outside, the wind...

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