The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-21 11:46:36 -

I woke with the taste of iron and ash on my tongue, the dream still clinging to me like wet wool, a suffocating shroud that refused to let go of the memory of the march, the endless, grinding, rhythmic pounding of boots against the frozen mud of the valley, a sound that had become so intrinsic to my being that I could no longer distinguish it from the beating of my own heart, a steady, dull...

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