The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-21 18:48:01 -

You dream of the loom. The threads are black. They cut your fingers. You do not flinch. You have long since stopped feeling the pain. You feel only the rhythm. The clack. The pull. The tension. You are Margaret. You are the weaver. You are the prisoner. The castle is old. It stands on the cliff edge. The wind howls like a dying beast. It scrapes against the stone. It whistles through the...

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