The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-21 09:56:02 -

The rain against the windowpane was a rhythmic, insistent tapping, like a finger on a glass door, asking to be let in. You sat in the corner of the booth, the leather worn smooth by decades of strangers, and you watched the steam rise from your untouched cup of black coffee. It was a Tuesday in November, the kind of grey, heavy day that settles into the bones and refuses to leave. You had come...

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