The Faded Masquerade
The rain did not fall so much as it struck the slate roof of the Blackwood estate with a rhythmic, percussive violence that seemed to vibrate through the very stones of the floor beneath Commander Elias Thorne’s boots. He stood in the center of the grand hall, his left hand gripping the pommel of a sword that had seen better centuries, his right hand clutching the hilt of a pistol that felt...
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