The Pale Circus

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2026-08-18 19:50:18 -

The Pale Circus

The bread was still warm when I broke it, the crust shattering with a sound like dry bones snapping. It sat on the rough-hewn table between us, a simple loaf of rye, dark and dense, smelling of smoke and earth. I looked at my hands. They were stained with flour, white dust settling into the creases of my knuckles, a ghostly mask over the dirt and old blood that had lived there for weeks. I am a...

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