The Faded Masquerade
The iron mask sat in my left hand, cold and heavy as a dead bird. It was my father’s, the one he wore to hide his face from the debtors in the old quarter, a piece of forged steel that smelled of rust and old sweat. I am Elias, forty-two, a city constable in the guild, and I have been awake for three days. The Guild Master had declared the theft of the ledger an act of war. He wanted blood. He...
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