The Pale Circus
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a cold, gray veil that turned the cobblestones of the village square into a mirror of the bruised sky. Thomas Ashworth stood at the edge of the wet pavement, his boots sinking slightly into the mud, watching the crowd gather around the iron cage that had been dragged down from the supply wagon. The wagon had come from the city, heavy with the...
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