The Faded Masquerade
The silence in the hall is not empty but heavy, a physical weight that presses against your eardrums and settles in the hollow of your throat, a thick, stagnant air where the dust motes hang suspended in the amber light of the tallow candles that flicker with a dying, erratic pulse as if the very oxygen in the room is being consumed by the sheer magnitude of the unspoken accusation that has...
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