The Pale Circus

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2026-08-23 20:52:39 -

The Pale Circus

The stone was cold, a slab of polished obsidian no larger than a playing card, and it sat in my palm like a dead bird. I held it there, feeling the chill seep into the bone of my thumb, while the mist outside the tent flaps thickened against the canvas. Inside, the air smelled of stale hay and the metallic tang of old blood. My sister, Elara, was three days away in the village of Oakhaven, her...

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