The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-21 18:51:36 -

The ink did not dry, it bled, a slow and dark hemorrhage that seeped through the parchment and into the very bones of the royal archive, where the scent of old paper and decaying vellum was indistinguishable from the metallic taste of blood that hung heavy in the air. Silas Vane stood before the Great Hall, his hands trembling not with fear but with a terrible, vibrating intensity that seemed...

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