The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-23 08:54:20 -

The dream was not of fire, as the Inquisitor had predicted, but of water, a cold, black tide that rose through the floorboards of my mind and swallowed the names of the men I had served, leaving only the sound of their breathing in the dark. I woke in the scriptorium with the taste of iron on my tongue and the smell of wet wool clinging to my skin, the candle I had snuffed hours ago still...

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