The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 17:25:42 -

The frost bit at the edges of the tent. It was a thin, sharp bite. Cillian pulled his coat tighter. The wool was rough. It scratched against his neck. He did not care. He looked at the jar. It sat on the crate. A simple glass vessel. Inside, the plant waited. It was green. It was still. It was alive. "Is it dead?" asked Bram. Cillian shook his head. No. Not yet. "It’s sleeping," he said. His...

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