The Pale Circus
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash things clean; it merely made the mud deeper and the smell of wet wool and horse manure more pungent. I am Elias, twenty-two years old, and I am three months short of the forty pounds owed to Silas Vane, the owner of the traveling circus that has been my master and my jailer for the better part of two years. My hands were cracked from the cold, the brush...
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