The Pale Circus
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world outside the high, arched windows of the Blackwood Archive, a sprawling, dust-choked library situated in the heart of a dying industrial town where the air always tasted of iron and wet slate. I sat at my desk, the wood polished smooth by decades of anxious hands, and watched the droplets race...
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