The Faded Portrait
The great oak table in the center of the hall had begun to weep, its grain darkening into the shape of a bruised eye that watched Elias with a sorrow so profound it felt less like emotion and more like a geological shift in the very foundation of the house. Elias, whose hands were stained with the indelible tannin of a hundred years’ labor in the workshop below, stood before the mirror that...
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