The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-18 08:00:32 -

The ink bled into the parchment with a slow, wet sigh, a dark bruise spreading across the skin of the paper that smelled of damp stone and old regrets. It was not a word, not truly, but a mark, a scar left by a quill that had been dipped in something far more viscous than iron gall, something that remembered the weight of centuries and the coldness of the vaults where truth was kept under lock...

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