The Faded Portrait
Act I "Remain. Do not cross the threshold before the light is spent." The words hung in the air of the watchtower, not as sound, but as a weight in the marrow of my bones, a physical pressure that sat upon my chest like a stone I had carried down from the hillside in my youth. I stood at the crumbling edge of the estate, my hands gripping the rough-hewn stone until the knuckles turned white,...
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