The Faded Masquerade
The feast had long since dissolved into a haze of candle smoke and the heavy, perfumed sweat of the aristocracy, yet the air in the great hall of Ashworth Manor still hummed with the residual energy of the masquerade, a low, thrumming vibration that seemed to live in the very stones. You stand apart from the dancers, your back against the cold marble of a Doric column, your hand resting not on...
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