The Faded Masquerade
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a gray, suspended curtain that blurred the edge of the world where the cobblestones of Millhaven met the endless, churning expanse of the moor. Elias Thorne walked with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man carrying a weight that had long since fused with his spine. He was not a king, nor a hero of ballads, though the townsfolk whispered his name with...
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