The Pale Circus

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2026-08-20 10:21:25 -

The Pale Circus

You wake in a trench that smells of wet iron and old blood, the mud clinging to your shins like a living, desperate thing, and you know before you open your eyes that you have been walking for a thousand years, or perhaps only a second, because time in this place has ceased to be a river and has become a stagnant pool in which you are the only fish swimming in circles. Your hands are trembling,...

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