The Pale Circus

adicionou um novo artigo Literature

2026-08-19 21:05:17 -

The Pale Circus

The great hall of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not smell of incense or old stone, as the bards of the lowlands had promised, but of wet wool, rusted iron, and the sweet, cloying rot of lilies that had been forced to bloom in the dead of winter. Seraphina stood at the center of the circular dais, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the hilt of the Sun-Blade that the knuckles had turned the...

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