The Faded Masquerade
The hall smelled of wet wool and old iron. I remember the humidity now, how it swelled the wooden doors until the hinges screamed. It was the year of the bequest, the one with the condition that bound us all. I was thirty-two then, having served the Silent Court for twenty years. My name was Mei Song. I stood in the Hall of Whispers, where spoken words turned into physical chains. The air hung...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews