The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 15:56:08 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a gray, static curtain that pressed against the windows of the manor house like a held breath. Inside, the silence was heavy, smelling of wet wool and old paper. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the mirror in the hallway, his hand resting on the cold brass hilt of his revolver. He was not checking his aim. He was checking his face. "You look...

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