The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-20 14:11:32 -

The dream came to Sir Edward Ashworth not as a whisper, but as a heavy, wet silence that pressed against the inside of his skull, a void where the air had been replaced by the scent of ozone and old blood. He stood in the center of the Hall of Mirrors, a place that did not exist in the waking world but had occupied the deepest recesses of his memory for three decades, a corridor of polished...

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