The Faded Masquerade
The rain had turned the gravel of the courtyard into a slurry of mud and broken slate, a slick, dark mirror reflecting the jagged silhouette of Thornhall Manor. Elias Thorne stood with his back to the wet stone of the service entrance, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the violent, rhythmic shuddering that had begun in his bones three years ago, a tremor that matched the groan of...
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