The Pale Circus
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel path into a slurry of gray mud that sucked at the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots with a persistent, wet hunger. He walked with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man who had learned long ago that speed was a luxury he could not afford, his eyes fixed on the distant, flickering orange glow of the fairground lights that pierced the mist like...
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