The Faded Root
The name was shouted through the glass, a muffled bark that vibrated in the hollow of my chest. "Thorne! Step back from the door!" It was Mrs. Gable, her face a gray smear behind the peephole, her mouth moving in sharp, silent syllables. I did not step back. I pressed my forehead against the cold oak, the grain rough against my skin, my hands clutching the iron mask so tightly the cold bit into...
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