The Faded Masquerade
The count had reached four hundred and twelve steps since the last time the porcelain had cracked, a sound like a knuckle popping in the silence of the mud, and Elias Thorne knew with a certainty that settled in his marrow that he was close, the fog lifting from the jagged coastline just enough to reveal the black, soot-stained teeth of the Iron Church rising from the rocks like a broken jaw...
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