The Faded Photograph
The fog sat heavy on the valley floor, a grey shroud that muffled the clatter of the distant mills. Elias Thorne stood in the center of his study, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper. He held the silver frame in his hands, his fingers trembling not from cold, but from the weight of the silence. The photograph inside was faded, the faces within it blurred by time and water...
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