The Faded Masquerade
The rain in the city of Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a gray veil that smelled of wet stone and old iron, clinging to the cobblestones with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like a judgment. Thomas Ashworth stood at the edge of the market square, his hands heavy at his sides, feeling the weight of the leather bracers that encased his forearms from wrist to elbow....
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