The Pale Circus

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2026-08-23 22:50:39 -

The Pale Circus

The rain on the border post had a taste, metallic and old, like blood left too long in a cup, and you stood under the eaves of the guardhouse, watching the mist roll down from the highlands, thick as wool, erasing the line where the dirt road met the dark woods. Lord Vane stood behind you, his boots creaking on the wet stone, his face a mask of bureaucratic impatience, and he did not look at...

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