The Faded Masquerade
The match flares in the darkness of the foyer, a small, defiant sun that illuminates the dust motes dancing in the stale air, and you watch the flame lick the tip of the wooden stick, feeling the heat radiate against your palm like a living thing, while the heavy silence of the estate presses in on you from all sides. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a retired federal marshal with a...
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