The Pale Circus

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2026-08-23 08:30:53 -

The Pale Circus

The dust in the courtyard tasted of chalk and old iron, a flavor that coated my tongue every time I tried to speak. I stood before Silas, the old man whose hands were as gnarled as the roots of the oak tree that marked the boundary of our manor, and I forced the practice sword into my grip. My arms shook, not from the cold, though the summer air was thin and brittle, but from the hollow ache...

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