The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 20:41:35 -

The morning I left Blackwood, the air tasted of wet ash and the ironworks smoke hung low over the rooftops like a shroud that refused to lift, and I buttoned my tunic with a trembling hand, only to feel the brass button on my left lapel snap under my thumb, crumbling into a pile of red dust that stained my white shirt. I am Sergeant Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, and I am going to the...

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