The Faded Masquerade
The solvent hit the obsidian with a hiss, a sharp, acidic bite that cut through the heavy, recycled air of the archive, and I watched the black surface ripple as the grime lifted, revealing the deep, glassy sheen beneath. My left hand, steady enough to hold the fine brush, began to tremble, a subtle vibration that traveled up through the wrist and into the elbow, a grinding sensation that felt...
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