The Faded Masquerade
The dream began not with a sound, but with the absolute, suffocating weight of a silence that tasted of copper and old dust, a silence that pressed against the eardrums of Elias Thorne, a man who had spent the last twenty years of his waking life cataloging the mundane decay of municipal records in a basement office that smelled perpetually of damp paper and mildew. In the waking world, Elias...
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