The Faded Portrait
The rain had stopped, leaving the forest floor slick with a mud that smelled of iron and old rot, and I struck the match with a hand that shook not from cold, but from the terrible, hollow silence that had swallowed my voice hours ago. I am Elias Thorne, Lieutenant of the Ninth Company, and I write this in the margins of my campaign journal because there is no one else to tell, and the ink is...
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