The Faded Portrait
The room smelled of dust and old paper. Elias sat alone. He was a man of few words. His hands were still. They rested on the desk. The wood was cold. Outside, the rain fell. It drummed against the glass. A steady, dull rhythm. Elias looked at the object. It was a mask. Carved from pale wood. It sat in the center of the table. The face was serene. The eyes were closed. It was not a toy. It was a...
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