The Faded Masquerade
The ledger listed forty-three days until the solstice, and Elias Thorne counted the hours in the cold blue light of the cellar. He held the silver astrolabe, the metal biting into his palm, feeling the hairline fracture run from the central pivot to the rim. Twelve years. Twelve years since Lily had taken her last breath in the fever, and twelve years since he had bound the wisp of her soul to...
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