The Faded Masquerade
The rain hits the pavement. It is cold. You stand by the door. The building looms. It is gray. It is tall. The glass reflects your face. You look tired. You look old. You hold the sword. It is not steel. It is wood. It is painted black. The paint is chipped. You have carried it for ten years. You have held it for ten years. The door opens. You walk in. The lobby is empty. There is a desk. There...
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