The Faded Masquerade
The rain hits the slate roof with the force of a hammer against an anvil, a rhythmic, deafening percussion that vibrates in the teeth. You are huddled in the corner of the study, your back pressed against the cold stone of the fireplace, while the heavy oak door at the far end of the room shudders under the assault of the wind. The air inside is thick, saturated with the smell of wet wool, old...
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