The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-17 11:05:27 -

The iron was hot. It had been hot for three days, a constant, searing pulse against the palm of my hand. I held it out to the man standing in the doorway of the chapel, though I knew he could not see it. Not really. He could only see the smoke that curled from the metal, thin and grey as the fog that always rolled off the river at dusk. "Put it down, Thomas," he said. His voice was soft,...

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