The Pale Circus

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2026-08-18 15:09:18 -

The Pale Circus

The frost bit hard at the iron gates of the Palace of Whispers. I stood before them, my breath a thin white ribbon unraveling into the dark. The air smelled of wet stone and old blood. I was a man of duty, a clerk in the shadow of the throne, yet my hands trembled with a fear that had no name. The gates groaned. They were ancient things, forged in a time when kings wore steel and spoke little....

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