The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 08:04:54 -

The loom stood in the center of the workshop, silent and vast. It was a machine of oak and iron, built for the production of velvet. Elias Thorne sat before it, his hands resting on the shuttle. He did not move. The dust motes danced in the single beam of light that cut through the high window. Outside, the city of Larkspur hummed. It was a sound of commerce. Of ambition. Of feet on...

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