The Faded Masquerade
The fog did not roll into the Blackwood Sanatorium; it was already there, a thick, grey suspension that turned the iron gates into jagged teeth. Elias Thorne stepped over the threshold, his boots sinking into the wet gravel, and immediately felt the pressure drop against his eardrums. He was thirty-four, a man who had once held the keys to the city’s most sensitive archives, now reduced to a...
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