The Faded Masquerade

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 02:44:33 -

The iron mask is cold against your chest, heavier than the bread you just sold your sword for. "You’re late, Elias." The High Inquisitor’s voice is dry, like leaves crushed under a boot. He stands in the center of the citadel hall, a tower of black velvet and silver lace, his eyes fixed on the mask you clutch. "Did the plague stop your feet, or just your mind?" The smell of the hall hits you...

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