The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-21 17:44:19 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the glass of the tavern. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool, stale tobacco, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. It was a feast of sorts, though no one had lifted a fork. The men sat in a rough circle on the floorboards, their coats dripping onto the straw. There were six of them. Soldiers. Or what...

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