The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 20:37:44 -

The ink on my fingers had dried into a black crust that no amount of scrubbing could remove, a permanent stain that marked me as a servant of the word and a exile in the body. It was the year 1342, and I, Elias, a scribe of thirty years, sat in the cold stone hall of King Aldric’s court, my quill poised over the parchment that would either secure my family’s pardon or seal my death. The air in...

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