The Faded Portrait
I woke with the taste of rust in my mouth. The dream had been of a door. It was a heavy, iron thing, set into a wall of grey stone. I stood before it. I did not knock. I did not push. I simply waited. The handle was cold. I knew I would not open it. I knew I would stand there until the light went out. I woke to the sound of the wind. It scraped against the windowpane. It sounded like...
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