The Faded Masquerade
The rain has been falling on the slate roofs of the Blackwood Industrial Archive for three days straight, a relentless, grey drumming that seems to seep into the very bones of the stone walls, and you are sitting at the long, scarred oak table in the basement, staring at a manila folder that feels heavier than a brick, your fingers stained with the cheap, metallic ink of the carbon copies that...
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