The Faded Masquerade
I woke in a hallway that smelled of wet wool and ozone. The floor was black marble, polished to a mirror sheen. It reflected my face, but the face was wrong. It was older. It was wearing a mask. Not a paper mask. A skin mask. Tight and pale. I looked down. I was wearing a coat. It was long. It was dark. It had no buttons. It was open. "Did you sleep well, Thomas?" The voice came from the end of...
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