The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-19 07:06:37 -

The noise hits you first. A roar of steam and clapping wood. The Mill Hall smells of wet wool, stale beer, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. You stand at the edge of the dance floor, a shadow among shadows. Your hands are raw. The calipers in your pocket feel like dead weights, cold iron against your thigh. You are not here to celebrate. You are here to end it. The masquerade is a lie....

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