The Pale Circus
The rain did not fall so much as it was expelled from the sky, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the lower district into a mirror of filth and broken light. It was the kind of weather that settled into the bones, a dampness that no amount of coal fire could fully expel, leaving the air thick with the scent of wet wool and the metallic tang of the river. In the center of...
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