The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 07:08:30 -

The blood on my left hand was not my own. It had seeped through the wool of my glove, warm and slick, a secret kept between the dead and the living. I stood in the center of the great hall of Blackwood Manor, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old roses, and I felt the weight of the sword in my right hand more than the weight of the guilt in my chest. The man on the floor, Sir...

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