The Faded Masquerade
The bell of St. Jude’s tolled the hour of the wolf, a sound so deep and resonant it seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Caelan’s bones, shaking loose the dust of centuries from the rafters of the city hall where he stood, a man who had forgotten how to breathe but remembered how to watch, his eyes fixed on the intricate, gold-leafed mask that hung in the center of the room like a second sun,...
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