The Faded Portrait
The fever in the infirmary of the Abbey of St. Jude did not burn like a common illness; it felt as though Thomas’s blood had been replaced with liquid ice, a supernatural chill that gnawed at the marrow while his skin flushed with a deceptive, feverish heat. He lay on the straw mattress, the stone walls weeping condensation into the damp air, and watched the candle flame waver in the draft, his...
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