The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 14:03:41 -

The frost had not yet touched the windowpanes, but the air in the barracks smelled of wet earth and decay. I was thirty-four years old, a Captain in the Royal Guard, and I had one thing left that I wanted to hold onto: the promise that I would stand at the altar for Julian’s wedding in the spring. We had made that promise in the mud of the northern front, back when we were young enough to...

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