The Pale Circus

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 07:27:18 -

The Pale Circus

"You're late," I say. The voice is not mine. It comes from the shadow of the archway, thin and reedy, stripped of the baritone that usually anchors me in a room. I look down at my hands. They are not my hands. They are small, pale, and trembling, the knuckles swollen like knots in old wood. I am standing in the square behind the old granary, the place where the town gathers when the air turns...

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