The Faded Masquerade

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-19 23:52:41 -

The fog sat heavy on the moor, a grey shroud that swallowed the horizon. I walked. My boots crunched on the frost. It was late autumn. The air bit my cheeks. I was old. I was tired. I was running from a ghost that wore my face. I had been a judge once. I had sat in high-backed chairs. I had heard men beg for mercy. I had given it. Or I had not. The distinction had blurred long ago. Now, I was a...

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