The Pale Circus
The bell in the tower did not ring so much as it screamed, a jagged shard of sound that split the grey morning air and rattled the teeth in your skull. You were standing in the courtyard of the Collegium, your hands buried in the pockets of your woolen coat, watching the dust settle on the cobblestones as the crowd surged forward. It was the day of the Purge, the annual cleansing of the...
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