The Pale Circus

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2026-08-17 10:21:35 -

The Pale Circus

The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray veil that blurred the edges of the world and softened the hard lines of the house. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of boiled oats and the damp wool of a uniform that had seen too many winters. Silas Thorne stood at the kitchen table, his hands resting on the wood, the grain worn smooth by decades of his own restless...

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