The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-23 08:45:49 -

The dream is always the same. A goblet of green glass, thick as a thumb, resting on a table of black oak. You reach for it, your fingers trembling with a hunger that is not for drink but for proof. The glass strikes the rim of the table and shatters. The shards are not sharp; they are soft, like wet clay, and they stain your hands a deep, bruised purple. You wake in the cold, the scent of iron...

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