The Faded Portrait
The portrait in the high tower watched you. It did not blink. It did not breathe. It simply waited, its eyes fixed on the inkwell you held, as if it knew the weight of what you were about to sign. You were Elias, forty-two, a scribe for the High Council of Aethelgard. You wanted to finish the Codex of Silence by the winter solstice. This was not a vanity project. It was a life or death matter....
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