The Faded Masquerade
The rain did not wash the house clean. It only made the grime slick, turning the Victorian facade of the Blackwood estate into a mirror of mud and shadow. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and the metallic tang of fear. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the grand foyer, his eyes fixed not on the chandelier above him, but on his own hands. They were trembling. Not from...
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