The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-23 11:21:55 -

The fog did not roll in so much as it exhaled, a thick, grey breath that smelled of wet wool and old iron, swallowing the path beneath my boots until the world was nothing but a white void and the sound of my own ragged breathing. I am Elias Thorne, and for forty-two years I have drawn lines that do not exist, mapping borders between places that refuse to be separated, but today I am not a...

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