The Pale Circus
The mist lay thick on the fields outside Oakhaven, a grey wool that swallowed the edges of the world. Elias Thorne sat on the porch of his small, crooked house, the wood splintering slightly under his weight. He was a man of few words, a clerk by trade, whose hands were perpetually stained with ink and whose eyes held the dull, steady gaze of a creature that had learned to survive by being...
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