The Faded Masquerade
The chandelier above the ballroom floor of Thorne Hall swung gently, casting long, fractured shadows across the faces of the masked guests who danced to the strains of a string quartet, while I stood at the center of the room, feeling the first cold tremor seize the muscles of my left hand, a sudden and violent betrayal of the body that had served my mind so faithfully for forty-two years. I...
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