The Faded Masquerade
The mask is heavy. You know this. You feel the weight of it against your cheekbones, a cold stone pressed into flesh. You are alone in the cellar. The air smells of damp earth and old iron. You are looking for the truth. You are a hunter. The shadows are your hounds. You remember the accusation. The village elder, Thomas, his face twisted in disgust. He called you a thief. He said you stole the...
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