The Faded Masquerade
The train hissed into the station of Oakhaven, a place that smelled of coal smoke and wet wool, leaving me with a ringing in my ears that felt less like sound and more like a physical bruise. I stepped onto the platform, my boots clicking against the damp stone, and looked up at the clock tower. The hands were frozen at six o'clock, a testament to the town’s peculiar stasis, a time where the...
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