The Pale Circus

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2026-08-22 16:14:55 -

The Pale Circus

The leather strap of the compass was worn thin by four decades of thumb and callus, the brass casing cold against my palm as I stood on the muddy bank of the Liffey, watching the water turn black and sluggish under the weight of the November sleet. I am Sir Eamon of the Pale, and I have spent the last three months tracking a rumor that tastes like ash in the mouth, a whisper that the Pale...

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