The Pale Circus
The rain hammered the canvas roof of the Big Top, a rhythmic drumming that matched the frantic beating of Elias Thorne’s heart. He stood in the center of the ring, the mud slick and dark beneath his boots, his sword arm trembling from a fatigue that went deeper than muscle. Across from him, young Kaelen smirked, his polished blade catching the dim light of the gas lamps. Kaelen was twenty, all...
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