The Pale Circus
You are leaving. That is the first thing you must understand about the night that unmade you. You are leaving, not because you wish to, but because the air in the station is too thick with the scent of coal dust and old fear, a miasma that coats the back of your throat and makes it hard to breathe, a suffocating blanket woven from the sins of a century of industry that no amount of scrubbing...
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