The Pale Circus
The bell rang at dawn. It did not chime. It screamed, a thin, high note that tore through the fog and settled in the marrow of the bones. We were awake before the sound faded. We were always awake. I stood by the window. The glass was cold against my palm. Below, the square was empty. The cobblestones were slick with rain. A single lantern burned on the corner, its light trembling in the wind....
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