The Distant Ghost
Act I Yamamoto Sakura looked back from the cold stone floor, knowing he would not get up. The light in the throne room was failing, the angle of the afternoon sun cutting low through the high windows, turning the dust into a thick, golden slurry that hung in the air. He remembered the weight of the iron mask in his hand, the way it had felt less like metal and more like a second skin, warm and...
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