The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-23 20:42:32 -

The ledger was cold in Elias Thorne’s hands, heavier than the parchment suggested. "You are overstating the decay, Elias," Master Vane said, not looking up from his tea. The liquid was black, still as a pond. "The Spire has stood for four centuries. It does not rot because you say it does." Elias set the ledger on the oak desk. The wood groaned under the weight. "The eastern wall is weeping...

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