The Pale Circus
The gate is broken. It hangs by one hinge, swinging in the wind like a dead man’s arm. You stand before it. Your hands are full of iron. The iron is cold. It bites into your palms. You are a fighter. You know this. Your body knows it better than your mind. The muscles in your back are tight. Coiled. Ready to strike. But you do not strike. You wait. The structure rises before you. A hall of...
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