The Pale Circus
The steam pipes bleed again. You know the taste of it, that metallic tang that coats the back of your throat, warm and thick like old blood. Elias Thorne, thirty-two, senior engineer at the Blackwood Ironworks, wipes the red fluid from his gauntlet and watches it drip onto the grating. The turbine hums, a low, organic pulse that vibrates in his teeth, a sound he has listened to for ten years, a...
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