The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 21:03:11 -

The town of Oakhaven had no clocks, only the rhythm of the bells that tolled from the steeple of the old chapel, a sound that seemed to seep into the marrow of the bones rather than the ears. It was a place where the air tasted of iron and wet stone, and where the fog rolled in from the river every morning like a slow, white tide that swallowed the streetlights one by one. Elias Thorne worked...

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