The Faded Masquerade
The fire in the great hall of Blackwood Keep burned low, yet the heat remained, a stifling presence that pressed against our skin like a damp cloth, and I stood by the hearth, watching the embers pulse with a slow, rhythmic throb that seemed to match the beating of my own heart, which was not a metaphor but a physical reality that I could not shake, for I had spent three days in this room,...
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