The Faded Paradox
The iron mask was there again, fused to Elias Thorne’s face in the dark, the metal hot against his skin, whispering the weight of a sin he had not committed. He woke with the taste of rust in his mouth, his hands trembling as he pushed back the thin wool blanket. The room in the tower was cold, the candle guttering in its draft, but the real cold was the one in his chest, the one that had...
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