The Faded Masquerade
The fog did not roll into the city of Oakhaven so much as it exhaled, a thick, grey breath that smelled of wet wool and ancient coal, suffocating the cobblestones and the sharp, jagged edges of the gothic spires that pierced the low-hanging clouds. It was a city built on layers of old sins, where the streets were narrow veins carrying the blood of commerce and rumor, and where the light of the...
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