The Faded Masquerade
The parchment of the Grand Duke’s decree lay on the table, its edges curling like dried leaves, and I stared at the ink until it blurred into the black spots that haunted my vision. I am Silas, and my hands, once the dexterous instruments of a court jester’s livelihood, now tremble with a palsy that defies the steadiness I have cultivated for twenty years. I need the pardon for my brother,...
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