The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-22 18:42:02 -

The fever broke in the cellar, leaving Elias gasping for air that tasted of wet stone and rot. He was forty years old, though the lines on his face suggested a man twice that age, and he lay curled on a straw mattress that had long since lost its spring. The dream had been of Lord Ashworth’s face, not the stern mask of the living, but the slack, grayed visage of the dead, staring down from the...

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