The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-20 15:26:35 -

I woke with the taste of iron and wet dust on my tongue, the dream still clinging to the back of my throat like a second skin. In the dream, I was standing in the atrium of the old Whitmore estate, surrounded by a forest of white paper masks that were slowly dissolving into the humid air, revealing nothing but empty air where faces should have been. The silence was not empty; it was...

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