The Pale Circus
The mask is missing its left cheek." Elian’s hands hovered over the porcelain shards scattered across the stone floor of the Blackwood manor’s east wing. The pieces were cold, colder than the November air that seeped through the cracked shutters. He counted them. Twelve pieces. Twelve shards of pale, glazed clay that had once formed the face of Lord Vane, the ghost who haunted the estate and...
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