The Faded Masquerade
The rain lashed against the high, arched windows of the library, a rhythmic, percussive assault that seemed to demand an answer to the question hanging in the stale, dust-choked air between you and Clara. You stood by the hearth, your back rigid, watching the fire consume the last of the dried yew wood you had gathered yourself, while she sat across from you, her hands wrapped tightly around a...
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