The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-18 14:38:38 -

The rain did not fall. It hung. A thick, gray mist clung to the ironworks. It smelled of rust and wet wool. Silas stood by the window. His back was to the room. He was waiting. The clock on the mantle ticked. It was a slow, heavy sound. Like a hammer hitting an anvil in the distance. Silas turned. His hands were trembling. He looked at his fingers. They were stained black with soot. Deep in the...

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