The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:33:17 -

The rain against the windowpane sounded like the slow, deliberate tapping of knuckles on a heavy oak door. It was a sound that had filled the cellar for three days, or perhaps three weeks; time in the dark had become a viscous, unmeasurable thing, pooling in the corners of the room like the damp that clung to the stone walls. Marguerite sat on the floor, her back against the cold wall, her...

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