The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-20 18:23:27 -

The feast was a wound in the dark. You sat at the far end of the long oak table, your fingers buried in the linen napkin until your knuckles turned white. The air smelled of roasted duck and old candle wax. It smelled of a life you did not live. Around you, the court of the Hollow King drank and laughed, their voices bouncing off the high stone walls of the hall. They were bright. They were...

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