The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 15:39:11 -

The mirror was cracked. Not broken. Just a single line running from the upper left corner down to the chin. It looked like a vein. Or a scar. I stood before it. My hands trembled. I held the cloak. It was gray wool. Heavy. It smelled of damp stone and old smoke. "Look," I said. No one answered. The hall was empty. The candles burned low. The wax pooled on the silver tray. I was the Royal...

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