The Faded Portrait
The ice cracked. Not with a sound. With a shudder. A deep, tectonic groan that rose from the black water below and traveled up through the boots, the thighs, the spine. "Steady, Thomas." The voice was thin. Brittle. It came from the dark. Thomas did not look up. He looked at the fissure. It was a jagged line of white light, ugly and bright, cutting across the blue expanse of the world. It was...
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