The Faded Portrait
The mud on my left boot was thick and cold, a heavy, sucking weight that felt less like earth and more like the grave itself trying to pull me under. I stood in the center of the ruined plaza, the cobblestones cracked and jutting up like broken teeth, while the air above us hummed with a sound that was not thunder, but something older, something that vibrated in the marrow of my bones. To my...
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