The Faded Masquerade
The rain slicks the cobblestones of the Iron Gate courtyard, turning the world into a grey smear of mud and iron. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a warden who has spent three decades polishing the same rust from the same bars. In your hand, you hold the Masque, a silver face that feels cold as a corpse. You want to keep it safe. You want to keep it from the Court. The rumor has reached you...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews