The Faded Masquerade
Your hand is steady as you adjust the brass button on your tunic, the metal cool against the thumb, while across the square the morning light catches the fractured surface of Silas’s mask, throwing prismatic shards across the cobblestones. You are Elias Thorne, constable of Oakhaven, and you have twenty years of service to show for your pension, a sum that will keep you from the poorhouse, but...
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