The Faded Photograph

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2026-08-22 14:26:50 -

The parchment was cold in my hands, colder than the stone floor beneath my boots, and the ink was wet. I held it up to the flickering candlelight, my thumb pressing against the seal, waiting for the wax to harden. It never did. Instead, the black liquid began to bleed, spreading outward from the Duke’s signet in a slow, viscous tide. I watched, breath held, as the ink pooled and darkened,...

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