The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 02:03:58 -

My hand shook as I forced the quill through the wet paper, the ink bleeding into the fibers like a bruise forming under skin. The rain had been falling for three days, a cold drizzle that soaked through my coat and settled into the marrow of my bones, making every joint ache with a dull, persistent throb. I was thirty-four years old, a scribe for the colonial administration, and I was dying by...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews