The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-22 14:26:36 -

The brass buckle of your belt sat in your palm, cold and heavy, its surface worn smooth by twenty years of your own thumbs. You turned it over in the dim light of the watchtower, the metal catching the grey morning that was already pressing against the single, cracked window. For a decade, this buckle had held up your trousers, your sword, and the weight of the border, but today it felt like a...

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