The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-21 11:19:54 -

The iron bit into my cheek. It tasted of rust and old blood. I did not spit. I could not. My hands were bound at the wrists with hemp rope, rough and biting, tied tight by the foremen of the Guild. We stood in the square of Oakhaven, the morning mist clinging to the cobblestones like a shroud. The crowd was silent. They watched us. Their eyes were hard. They expected us to break. They expected...

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