The Faded Masquerade
The fire had taken the roof of the St. Jude’s archive before the sun had fully cleared the eastern hills. I stood in the mud, the soot heavy on my tongue, watching the black smoke curl against the pale, winter sky. It was a disaster, yes, but it was also a liberation. The Order of the Silver Lark had guarded those documents for three centuries, treating them as sacred texts, immutable laws, and...
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