The Faded Portrait
The storm broke at dawn, a wall of black water that erased the line between sea and sky. Elias Thorne stood in the center of his workshop, a place of dust and silence, watching the glass shatter against the oak beams. He was a man of the coast, built of salt and stubbornness, with hands that had shaped driftwood into things of terrible beauty. For forty years, he had carved portraits. Not from...
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