The Pale Circus

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2026-08-19 07:07:47 -

The Pale Circus

The dream began with the smell of wet wool and gunpowder, a scent that had become so woven into the fabric of my existence that I could no longer distinguish it from the scent of rain. I was standing in the center of a town that did not exist on any map, a place where the houses leaned against one another like conspirators sharing a secret. In the dream, I was not Margot. I was a figure of...

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