The Faded Masquerade
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the windows of the Ashworth estate. Inside the library, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper. Elias stood by the hearth, his back to the fire, listening to the tick of the grandfather clock that seemed to count down the seconds of his own dwindling life. He was old now. The sword at his hip, once...
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