The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 22:14:09 -

The rain fell like a hammer on the roof of the carriage. It was a cold, grey drizzle that turned the Scottish highlands into a smear of slate and mud. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool and old blood. Arthur sat in the corner. His hands were bound. Not with rope, but with a silence that felt heavier than iron. He was a man who had served the Crown for forty years. He had worn...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews