The Pale Circus
The screwdriver slipped, biting into the brass casing of the automaton’s chest with a sound like a bone snapping under a boot. Elias wiped the smear of grease from his forehead, his twelve-year-old hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, cold weight of the mechanism he was holding. It was a heavy thing, a beast of copper and steel that his father had built in the last winter of his...
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