The Pale Circus

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2026-08-17 20:12:03 -

The Pale Circus

The dream always began with the smell of wet wool and old iron, a scent that clung to the back of my throat like a persistent taste of blood. I stood at the edge of the Great Hall of King Aldric, the stone floor cold and unyielding beneath my boots, while the air above me shimmered with a light that had no source, a pale, ghostly luminescence that seemed to emanate from the very dust motes...

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