The Faded Masquerade
The rain does not fall so much as it presses against the windowpane, a heavy, rhythmic pounding that seems to vibrate through the very bones of the building, that ancient, decaying structure of brick and mortar that you have held onto with a ferocity that has slowly become indistinguishable from obsession. You are standing in the center of the Great Hall, your hands resting on the cold, damp...
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