The Faded Masquerade
The bell tolled for the third time, and you stood at the gate of Saint-Céleste Cathedral, your gauntlet still warm from the blood you had wiped on your cloak. The carnival of Saint-Jude had begun. Not the kind of carnival you knew from your childhood in the provinces—barrel organs and painted wooden horses and women selling roasted chestnuts in paper cones. This was something older, something...
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