The Pale Circus

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2026-08-22 17:25:08 -

The Pale Circus

The white tents in the dream were not white at all, but a sickly, bruised grey, stretched tight over frames of black iron. You wake with your mouth full of the taste of copper and ash, the mud of the road still caked under your fingernails from where you fell asleep beneath the eaves of a ruined chapel. The sun is barely up, casting long, jagged shadows across the muddy tracks of the road to...

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