The Faded Masquerade
Chapter One Setsuko Watanabe held the pen with a grip that whitened her knuckles, the nib scratching against vellum that smelled of iron and old dust. The scriptorium was a box of shadows, lit by tallow that wept grease into the wicks, and the air hung so thick with humidity that the ink bled into the fibers before it could dry. She was transcribing the final page of the Liber Umbra, a text...
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