The Pale Circus
The carriage wheels groaned against the gravel, a sound like old bones grinding in a dry riverbed. Thomas Vane sat in the corner, his back pressed against the velvet upholstery, which had lost its luster decades ago. He was not traveling for pleasure. He was traveling for penance. The destination was the estate of his father, a place that existed on the map only as a smudge of ink, a void in...
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