The Faded Portrait
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of Oria into a slick, reflective mirror of the grey sky, and Elias Vane stood in his kitchen, slicing the last of the sourdough with a knife that felt too heavy for his hand. He was forty years old, a scholar of the old histories, and he had spent the last two weeks preparing this feast not for the living, but for the memory of...
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