The Faded Portrait
You wake in the dark. The air is thick. It tastes of rust and wet wool. You are in the cellar. The stone is cold against your back. You do not remember falling. You only know you are here. The silence is not empty. It is heavy. It presses on your ears. You try to move. Your arms are stiff. They do not obey. You breathe. In. Out. The sound is loud. Too loud. There is a light. A thin line of it...
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