The Pale Circus

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2026-08-18 02:23:04 -

The Pale Circus

The birdcage hung from the eaves of the house on Willow Street, its gold paint flaking away in long, curling strips that revealed the rusted iron beneath, a skeleton of bars that had once held something alive and now held only the gray, indifferent rain that fell with such persistent, heavy rhythm onto the shingles. Margaret Holloway stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the rough wood of...

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