The Faded Masquerade
The gate was iron. Old, pitted, and cold to the touch. It stood at the edge of the property, separating the world from the manor. Elias stood before it. He wore his armor. It was not steel. It was the weight of his rank. It was the weight of the silence in the house. He did not knock. He pushed. The hinges screamed. A sound like a dying bird. It echoed in the courtyard. The house was large. Too...
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