The Faded Masquerade

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 15:19:18 -

The ink was dry, but the smell of the wet parchment still hung in the air of the guardhouse, a sharp, metallic tang that sat ill with the damp stone. Thomas Ashworth stood by the window, his hands resting on the cold sill, watching the fog roll in from the river. It was a grey, heavy mist that swallowed the cobblestones and the lower steps of the bridge, erasing the world beyond the immediate...

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