The Faded Masquerade
The dream is not of darkness, but of a white so absolute it erases the horizon. You stand in a field of ash that stretches to the edge of the known world, and the air tastes of ozone and crushed mint. There is no sun, yet there is a light that seems to emanate from the very bones of the earth, a cold, surgical luminescence that exposes every flaw in the stone, every crack in the foundation of...
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