The Pale Circus

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2026-08-23 06:53:21 -

The Pale Circus

The mud in the borderlands was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking thing that seemed to hate the weight of my boots. I stood at the edge of the treeline, the grey sky pressing down on my shoulders, and watched the ridge where the wind stripped the last leaves from the birch trees. I was thirty-two years old, and I had not slept in two days, my body a hollow vessel filled only with the cold...

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