The Faded Masquerade
The mud sucks at your boots. You pull free. The road is not a road. It is a scar in the earth. You walk. The wind bites. It has no name. It has no mercy. You hold the box. It is heavy. It is not gold. It is not jewels. It is paper. Old paper. Ink. You are a clerk. You were a clerk. Now you are a ghost with a burden. The mist rises from the valley. It swallows the trees. It swallows your feet....
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