The Faded Photograph
Chapter One I stood in the throne room, the air heavy with wet stone and old dust, holding a photograph that had faded to the color of ash. The central pillar groaned, a low, tectonic moan that vibrated through the soles of my boots, signaling that the structure was already failing beneath the weight of the ceiling. My oxygen subscription was due in three days, and the bequest from my late...
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