The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-20 16:03:51 -

I woke with the taste of copper and wet stone in my mouth, the air thick with the humidity of the old quarter. My hands were shaking, not from cold, but from the residual voltage of the dream. I had been there again, in the workshop, the one that no longer existed. The smell of linseed oil and varnish was so strong it felt like a physical weight pressing against my chest. I sat up in the narrow...

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