The Faded Portrait
The winter of 1923 settled over the capital like a heavy, damp shroud, pressing the breath out of the city’s lungs. Elias Thorne stood before the Ministry of Records, a forty-year-old man whose coat was thinning at the elbows and whose hands were cracked from the cold, staring up at the unyielding stone facade that had rejected him for three years. He was a displaced clerk, a ghost in his own...
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