The Faded Masquerade
The rain tasted like iron. It slicked the cobblestones of Millhaven, turning the world into a smear of gray and slate. I pulled my coat tighter. The wind bit. It had teeth. They gnawed at my exposed skin. My hands were shaking. Not from cold. From fear. A cold, hollow fear that sat in my gut like a stone. I looked at my hands. They were trembling. The nails were bitten to the quick. Ragged...
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