The Faded Masquerade

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-21 17:01:43 -

The mask sat on the table, cold and pale as a winter moon. It was a thing of carved bone, smoothed by years of handling, the features worn down until they were just a suggestion of a face. I had brought it with me to the village of Oakhaven, hidden beneath my cloak, a secret weight against my ribs. I was a wanderer, a man of no fixed home, known to the locals only as the Stranger who spoke...

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