The Faded Masquerade
The coat is wrong. Elias Thorne stood before the shattered mirror in the hallway of Harrowgate Manor, his hand resting on the cold iron of the doorframe. The glass was a web of cracks, a spider’s web frozen in time, and in the jagged shards, his reflection moved a half-second after he did. It was a small thing. A lag. But it made the hair on his arms stand up, a prickle of static electricity...
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