The Faded Masquerade
The bell above the door did not ring. It was a dead sound, the bronze tongue cracked and silent, which was fitting for the establishment. The Gilded Cage, as the locals called it, had long since lost its gold leaf, peeling away in flakes that revealed the dull, rotting wood beneath. Inside, the air tasted of damp wool and old tobacco. It was a place where things went to die quietly, to be...
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