The Faded Portrait
The frost bites. It finds the cracks in the castle walls. It finds the cracks in your skin. You are the stone. You are the mortar. You are the door. Look at your hands. They are grey. They are rough. They look like the oak roots that hold the hillside together. You are Eleanor. You are the daughter of the King. You are the wall that keeps the cold out. The court is loud. The court is sharp. The...
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