The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-18 03:14:20 -

The mud was not merely wet; it was a living thing, a cold, sucking mouth that tried to pull Thomas Bradshaw down into the dark earth while he fought for his very breath. His hands, caked in the grey slurry of the riverbank, slipped against the slick bark of the willow, and his fingers, numb and raw, clawed at the air for purchase. He was not a knight, nor a lord, nor a man of any particular...

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