The Pale Circus

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2026-08-21 08:59:23 -

The Pale Circus

The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring for the dead, nor for the living, but for the hour. It was a heavy, iron tongue, swollen with rust, and when it swelled, the sound was not a note but a groan, a deep, structural complaint from the bones of the city itself. I sat in the shadows of the gallery, my hands folded in my lap, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam of light...

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