The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-20 17:02:39 -

The ivy on the chapel wall had turned black. It clung to the stone like a bruise that would not fade. Elara stood in the nave, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and old incense. She could hear the wind outside. It scraped against the window glass. A low, persistent moan. She had come to say goodbye. Or perhaps to beg...

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