The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-18 04:23:29 -

The ink is wet. You know this. The smell of iron and salt hangs in the air. Thick. Heavy. It coats your tongue. You are here. You are always here. The town of Oakhaven sleeps. But you do not. You cannot. The walls of the cellar are cold. Stone. Old. They breathe. Or so it feels. You press your back against the damp. Your hands shake. Not from fear. From hunger. The kind that eats the soul. You...

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