The Pale Circus

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 13:07:55 -

The Pale Circus

The tower stood in the mud. It was not a tower. It was a hole. Wren stood at the edge. His boots were wet. Cold. The air tasted of iron and old blood. He looked up. The sky was a bruised purple. A star flickered. Then vanished. "Is it gone?" The voice came from behind. Wren did not turn. "No." "Are you sure?" "I am sure." Silence. The wind howled. It sounded like a scream. Or a laugh. Wren knew...

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