The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-22 21:26:17 -

The branch was dry, brittle, and cold in your hands, splintering under the pressure of your thumbs before you could stop the motion, and as the wood gave way, the sound was sharp and final, like a bone breaking in a quiet room. You stood in the square of Oakhaven, the town you had served for twenty years as a scribe, holding the two jagged halves of the oak limb you had tended for three...

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