The Faded Photograph

toegevoegd een audio Literature

2026-08-19 10:32:54 -

The iron cuff bit into my wrist, cold and unyielding as the grave it promised. I stood before the High Justicar, a figure of carved oak and shadow, who did not look up from the ledger he was ink. His quill scratched against the parchment, a sound like a rat gnawing on bone. I did not speak. I could not. My voice had been stolen by the silence of the courtyard, by the weight of the chain I wore,...

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