The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-23 05:47:19 -

Thorne. You’re late. The fog is thick enough to chew on, and the Council doesn’t like delays. You stand in the doorway of the apothecary, your hands shaking so hard the mortar rattles against the pestle, a sound like dry bones knocking together in a tin can. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of crushed moonpetal and old copper, the scent of a life you’ve spent forty-two years grinding...

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