The Faded Masquerade
The fog did not merely surround you; it consumed the horizon, a thick, wet wool that strangled the light of the sun and turned the world into a gray, breathing void. You were Elara, thirty-two years old, a warden of the Mistwood who had spent her life keeping the boundaries of the forest intact, yet here you were, thirty paces from the edge of the Sunspire, clutching a withered rowan branch...
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