The Pale Circus

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2026-08-19 15:44:25 -

The Pale Circus

The air in the barn tasted of wet straw and old iron. It was a thick, heavy smell that sat in the throat, refusing to be swallowed or spat out. I sat on a hay bale that had begun to soften under my weight, my back against the rough-hewn timber of the wall. The rain outside was not falling; it was hammering. It struck the tin roof with a rhythmic, metallic insistence that vibrated through the...

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