The Pale Circus

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2026-08-19 08:52:21 -

The Pale Circus

The feast was not a celebration of joy, but of survival, a long table of white linen stretching down the hall of the Keep, the candles burning low and thick, dripping wax like slow tears onto the stone floor. I sat at the head, not by right of birth or title, but by right of function. I was the Binder, the keeper of the seals, the artisan of the parchment that held the kingdom’s secrets. My...

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