The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-19 20:51:33 -

The rain in the Highland wastes does not fall; it is imposed, a cold, grey curtain that blurs the distinction between the earth and the sky, a persistent weeping that has gone on for so long that one ceases to notice the dampness until the bones begin to ache with a familiar, hollow resonance. You stand at the edge of the treeline, your fingers curled around the hilt of a sword that feels less...

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