The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 16:21:21 -

I dreamt of ink. Black water. It ran down the walls of the house. It pooled in the corners of the rooms. It seeped under the doors. I woke with the taste of copper in my mouth. My fingers were stained. Not red. Blue-black. Like bruised veins. I looked at my hands. They were clean. But I felt the weight. The viscosity. The dark pull of the pigment. I sat up. The bed creaked. The room was grey....

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