The Faded Masquerade
The ink bled into the skin of Mara’s left hand before she even finished reading the first entry, a hot, chemical sting that felt like a brand pressed against the knuckles. She was crouched in the damp cellar of the house on Salt Creek Road, the air thick with the smell of brine and old paper, the water table rising inch by inch around the concrete floor. The ledger lay open on the stone slab,...
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