The Faded Masquerade
The candle in the cellar sputtered, casting long, jagged shadows that danced against the damp stone walls like restless spirits. Elias Thorne stood before the heavy oak desk, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the wood, waiting for the man on the other side to finish his drink. Lord Vane, a heavyset figure in a velvet coat that seemed to absorb the little light available, raised a...
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