The Faded Portrait
The ink in the pen had dried into a black crust, a small, hard thing like a beetle’s shell, and Elias Thorne pressed the nib against the paper with a force that tore the fiber, the date 14th October, 1893, bleeding into the page like a bruise. He was thirty-two years old, and his hands, which had always possessed a tremor that his father called a gift for precision, now shook with a violence...
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