The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 03:50:24 -

The frost bit into my knuckles. It was a sharp, white pain. I held my hand up. The fingers were stiff. They would not bend. I looked at the ice on the windowpane. It looked like a fracture in glass. My own hand was a mirror to the cold. I am Elias. I live in a house that is falling apart. The walls breathe. The roof leaks. I am an exile in my own home. "Is it worse?" I asked. My wife, Mara, did...

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