The Faded Portrait
Chapter One The wind in the valley did not blow; it scraped. It moved through the dead reeds of the delta with a sound like sandpaper on dry wood, a constant, low-frequency hum that settled in the teeth. I stood alone at the edge of the Whispering Path, my hands wrapped around the chisel, the metal cold enough to burn. I was here to carve the boundary stone. I was here to seal the labyrinth...
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