The Faded Portrait
The dust in the library of Blackwood Manor did not merely settle; it hung in the air like a suspended judgment, thick enough to taste on Elara Vance’s tongue as she ran her finger along the spine of a water-stained ledger. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, the days having blurred into a monotone of gray light filtering through the clogged windows, but the date mattered little to the...
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