The Faded Masquerade
Thorne, you are dismissed. The voice of Master Vane cut through the humid air of the laboratory, sharp and final, leaving no room for argument or appeal. I stood by the distillation bench, my hands still stained with the iridescent residue of the Sopor tincture, and watched as the Guild’s enforcers moved to dismantle my life’s work. They wrapped my alembics in oiled canvas and dragged the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews