The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-20 19:51:57 -

The rain hammered against the leaded windows of the keep, a relentless drumming that seemed to echo the blood pounding in Thomas Bradshaw’s ears as he stood before the High Warden, a figure carved from stone and silence in the center of the circular chamber. The air was thick with the scent of damp wool, old iron, and the faint, sweet rot of apples that had fallen into the moat, a smell that...

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