The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-19 14:41:51 -

The rain in this place did not fall; it hovered, a suspended mist that tasted of iron and old pennies. I stood on the precipice of the Ironbridge, my left hand wrapped in a bandage that had long since turned the color of dried blood. The pain was a dull, rhythmic throb, a second heartbeat syncing with the distant chug of the steam engines below. I am Elias Thorne, or at least, I was, before the...

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