The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-19 19:59:53 -

The rain hits the slate roof of the magistrate’s office with a steady, rhythmic hiss, a sound that you have come to associate with the settling of bones in old houses. You sit in the corner of the room, your hands folded in your lap, watching the dust motes dance in the sliver of afternoon light that cuts through the heavy velvet curtains. The room smells of wet wool and stale tobacco, a scent...

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