The Faded Masquerade
The bell in the steeple shatters. It does not break cleanly. It bursts. A scream of bronze tears through the air, high and jagged, splitting the morning fog over the town of Oakhaven. You stand in the square, holding your satchel. The metal shards rain down like dark hail. One strikes the cobblestones near your boot. It spins, stops. You do not move. You watch the pieces. You count them. There...
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