The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 18:49:32 -

The feast was a cacophony of clattering pewter and the low, wet roar of a hundred hungry throats. In the high vaulted hall of the Citadel, where the stone walls wept with the damp of the autumn rains, the air hung thick with the smell of roasting mutton, stale ale, and the metallic tang of old blood. Sir Alaric sat at the far end of the long oak table, his hands folded in his lap, still and...

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