The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:56:11 -

The frost bit hard. The road was gray. I walked on. The wind tore at my cloak. It was cold. Colder than memory. Colder than fear. I carried the satchel. It was heavy. It was light. The weight was a lie. The lightness was the truth. I had been a seer. Not a witch. Never a witch. A reader of signs. A mender of threads. But the village had turned. They looked at me with eyes full of rust. They...

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