The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-22 20:23:20 -

The ink on the parchment was still wet, a black smear that looked less like a signature and more like a wound, as I watched the Chancellor’s junior scribe tear the draft of the pardon into six jagged strips. I did not reach out to stop him, though my fingers twitched at my sides, itching for the quill I no longer possessed; instead, I watched the paper fall to the stone floor of the...

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