The Pale Circus

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2026-08-18 05:59:24 -

The Pale Circus

The iron gate was cold. It bit into my palms. I had worn the gloves off. The leather was dry. The leather cracked. I looked at my hands. They were not my hands. They were the hands of the law. They were the hands of the city. They were the hands that had built the cage. I stood in the corridor. The stone was black. The stone was wet. The air smelled of rust. It smelled of old blood. It smelled...

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