The Faded Masquerade
The fog in Oubliette does not merely obscure; it listens, a thick, wet grey curtain that presses against the skin and hums with the voices of those who have forgotten their own names. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a warden of the Third Tier, and I have spent the last four years in a cell that smells of damp stone and old blood, waiting for a justice that the High Council has already...
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