The Faded Masquerade
The ice broke. Not slowly. Not with a groan. It shattered. Silas fell. He did not scream. Men of his rank do not scream. They absorb. He hit the water. Cold. Absolute. A whiteout. He kicked. The surface was a ceiling of black glass. Stars. Distant. Unreachable. He pushed. Up. Up. The air burned. He gasped. Lungs screaming. He lay on the ice. Shivering. The cold was a living thing. It bit. It...
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