The Faded Masquerade
The sky did not fall, as the poets of the old songs claimed, but it cracked. It split open like a ripe plum, leaking a violet darkness that smelled of iron and wet ash, and when the first drop of the void struck the cobblestones of Highgate Lane, it did not splash. It shattered. It burst into a thousand jagged fragments of silence, each one humming with a low, resonant grief that vibrated in...
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