The Faded Masquerade
The loom in the back of the workshop stood silent, a wooden skeleton draped in the grey wool of the unfinished tapestry, and Elias Thorne, his hands stained the indigo of decades, stood before it with the rigid stillness of a man waiting for a verdict he already knew. He was fifty years old, a master weaver in the soot-choked industrial town of Oakhaven, and his desire was singular and...
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