The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-25 03:35:18 -

The parchment was heavy, wet with the damp of the cellar, and the ink had begun to bleed. "Is this the work of the King’s men?" I asked, my voice rough from the dust. The archivist, a thin man named Piers who smelled of vinegar and old paper, did not look up from his ledger. He was counting coins, or perhaps just rubbing his fingers together to keep them warm, though it was high summer. "It is...

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