The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 15:41:53 -

The rain on the carriage roof sounded like static. It was a dry, persistent hiss that filled the silence between us. I looked at my hands. They were folded in my lap, resting on the wool of my coat. My fingers were still. They had been still for three days. I could not feel the cold seeping through the wool. I could not feel the pulse in my wrist. The doctor had said the nerve was severed. He...

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