The Pale Circus

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2026-08-22 11:46:20 -

The Pale Circus

The mud on the road to Blackwood was not merely wet; it was a living thing, a sucking, brown mouth that tried to swallow our boots whole. We had been walking for three days, or perhaps it had only been an hour, for time behaves strangely when one is hungry and the sky is the color of a bruise. I was twelve, though I felt older, older than the years I had accumulated in the cold, damp cellar...

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